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How Much I Loved Thee! 



A DRAMA. 



The pathioay of Ilis providence 

Is on the hills where I may never climb.'''' 

—Dr. Holland. 



^"Wy/vX4J^ Gt'WA.a/^ 03 3^ ^: r '^^ 




FOR COPIES APPLY TO 



RAYMOND ESHOBEL, 

1449 Massachusetts Avenue, Washington, D. G. 



Price, $1.23. 



Co-,^ 



rs' 



^^ 



Copyright, 1884, by the Author. 
All rights reserved. 

Gilt. 
1 S '06 



Electrotyped by the 

Chas. M. Gkeen Printing Company, 

74 Beekman Street, New York, 



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rJ^X^ 



To 
MY MOTHER, 

I INSCRIBE 

"How Much I Loved Thee I" 



PEEFAOE. 



Should any of the real actors in this drama of love and 
sorrow be still ahve, as is not improbable in view of the 
brief twenty years, or thereabout, which have elapsed since 
the period of the occurrences detailed in the .verse which 
follows (and as I have on other grounds good reason to 
suppose) and should they recognize themselves under the 
thin veil of their altered names, they will, I am sure, 
pardon the liberty which the author has taken to pre- 
serve, in so inadequate a fashion, some memory of the sad 
episode in the general history of the late war, of which 
they formed a part. 

If any such are yet living, and had before been un- 
aware of it, they may not be surprised to learn, though 
far from the scene at present, that the stately mansion 
where most of these events took place is now believed by 
half its neighborhood (and especially by the colored race) 
to be veritably haunted. No action of its present owners, 
on whose hands it now lies, rather unprofitable property, 
has so far been able to dispel this belief. 

It would give me much satisfaction if I could learn 
from any reliable source the real nationality of the man 
Ricardo, since at the time in which he figures here no one 
was able to determine it. Some conjectured, and perhaps 
rightly, that he himself was not morally certain of the 



VI PKEFACE. 

place of his origin, thougli this and the other person de- 
clared that various good reasons prevented his disclosing 
the particulars of his career. 

Few encounters like the duel here described have lately- 
taken place ; and it is hoped by the more sober-going part 
of the community that the affair witnessed near Richmond 
during the summer of the year 1883 may prove to be the 
last. It may be recalled that the parties to this duel were 
well-known editors of that city ; and that the life of the 
elder was for some days placed in jeopardy by the supe- 
rior luck of his antagonist. 

Sad enough it seems that lovers and friends like An- 
derton, Eudora, Bryan, should perish from our sight in 
the bloom of youth ! But are they dead ? " Call me not 
dead," says a charming Olympian — 

" Call me not dead when I indeed have gone 
Into the company of the ever living 
High and most glorious poets! Let thanksgiving 
Rather be made ! Say — ' He at last hath won 
Release and rest, converse supreme and wise, 
Music and song and light of immortal faces: 
To-day, perhaps, wandering in starry places. 
He hath met Keats and known him by his eyes: 
To-morrow (who can say?) Shakspere may pass, 
And our lost friend just catch one syllable 
Of that three-centuried wit that kept so well ; 
Or Milton, or Dante looking on the grass 
Thinking of Beatrice and listening still 
To chanted hymns that sound from the heavenly hill.' " 

Raymond Eshobel. 
1449 Massachusetts Avenue, Washington, D. C. 



PERSONS EEPRESENTED. 



Anderton, a captain of the army. 
Bryan, a lieutenant. 
Charteris, a surgeon. 
RiCARDO, an adventurer. 
Bendix, ^ 
Joseph, V soldiers. 
York, J 

Peyton, a rich Virginian. 
Ross, a citizen. 
Poor Parlow, an imbecile. 
Bramble, servant of Anderton, 
Peps, servant of Bryan. 
Dick, | 

Johnson, \ colored servants. 
Jim, J 

A Clergyman. 
A Boatman. 

EuDORA, the adopted daughter of Peyton. 
Blanche, aunt of Eudora. 
LuciNDA, a lady's maid. 
Apricaine, a servant. 
Citizens, Soldiers, Musicians, Guests, Officers of Justice, etc. 



Scene: The City of Washington and the State of Virginia. 



PKOLOGUE. 



Between the night and morning, on a street 

In Washington, two soldiers enter; hoth 

Well set in drink to stir the broil that follows; 

And in their quarrel show the story's date: 

At last upon the scene comes Anderton, 

A brave young Captain who, for noted cause, 

Has bid farewell to Cupid and dreams only 

Of honor and high deeds: but ere the end 

Of my first canto, you shall see the zeal 

Of war consumed in the fierce flames of love. 

Meantime, in one Ricardo, you will meet 

The villain of the piece; and what he schemes 

And brings to pass, the second part will show; 

And then, what follows, would you wish to know, 

You need but read the story that remains: — 

And let me hope it will be worth your pains. 



HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE! 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — Wasliingion. A street — moonlight. 
Enter Bendix and Joseph. 

BENDIX. 

What is the light for on the Capitol ? 

JOSEPH. 

It shows the Senate is in session. 

BENDIX, 

The devil! I wish I were a senator, 
To lounge upon a comfortable chair 
And make the laws for rascals. 

JOSEPH. 

You make laws ? 
Bendix make laws? Ho, ho! When that day comes. 
Blind men must be astronomers; and deaf 
And dumb, town-criers. You a senator! 

BENDIX. 

Yes, Joe, I'd give a trifle if I were. 
For all the senators go home to-morrow, 
While we, poor fools, must on to Richmond. 



2 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT I. 

JOSEPH. 

• Well? 

BENDIX. 

Well, do you say ? And is it well I lose 

The sweetest lips that ever kissed a man ? 

See, Joe, she sewed this {shoioing a handkerchief) 

with her own fair hands, 
And swore me on it never to forget her! 
Mark how she waves! God bless you, Poll! — 
Halloa, 'tis she! Look, where she lights the Avindow! 
This is her house : I'll serenade her. Come, 
Heave me a song rebellious as the devil! 

Here goes! 

[Sings. 
" In Dixie Land, whar I was born in, 
Early on one frosty morniu', 
Look away! look away! look away! Dixie Land." 

JOSEPH. 

Hold on! hold on! Put wheel-grease in your throat! 
You'll start the roosters crowing round the world. 

BENDIX and JOSEPH {singing). 
" Den I wish I was in Dixie. Hooray! hooray! 
In Dixie Land I'll took my stand, 
To lib and die in Dixie: 
Away, away, away down South in Dixie. 
Away, away, away down South in Dixie." 

Enter Ross on a balcony. 

ROSS. 

Ho, there, you blacker traitors than the night, 
Your songs are poison to my children's ears! 
Home with you both! This is no rebel's house. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 

BENDIX. 

No rebel's house ? But, sir, it is a ruffian's: 
Too small a house, though, for so great an ass; 
Too good a house for such a devilish fool; 
Too high a house for such a low-bred master. 

ROSS. 

[ wish you were as good a man yourself. 

BENDIX. 

Come down, sir, and I'll prove myself a better! 

JOSEPH {to BENDIX). 

bah! let up; your woman is not here. 

l^Crowd collects : windows thrown up. 

ROSS. 

1 am not in my clothes or I would maul you. 

BENDIX. 

For shame to be in other people's clothes! 
Yet any rogue's would fit you. 

CROWD. 

Ha! ha! ha! 

ROSS. 

Vile vagabond! Ho, Matthew, some police! 

MATTHEW (at a window). 
Good lack, sir! I could find more blueberries 
In January. 

[Disappears. 

JOSEPH (to BENDIX). 

Wiltfi^ht? 



4 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [act I. 

BENDIX. 

Of course we'll fight, 
But not against the odds. 

ROSS. 

Rosanne! my gun! 

BENDIX. 

Rosanne! Rosanne! my popgun! 

CROWD. 

Good! 

ROSS. 

Bring down 
The cartridge-box! 

BENDIX. 

That I may box your ears. 

CROWD. 

Ho, ho! ha, ha! 

ROSS. 

Curst villain! 
Enter Two Policemen. 

FIRST POLICEMAN. 

What's the matter ? 

BENDIX. 

That man upon the balcony is either 
Crazy or drunk. 

SECOND POLICEMAN. 

You, sir, I fear, are both: 
We know the gentleman on the balcony. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE! 5 

BENDIX, 

I dare say, then, he is an old offender. 

SECOND POLICEMAN. 

Not so: his name is Ross, a worthy man, 
A well-known citizen. 

BENDIX. 

His name is Ross ? 
Well, now, if I had known his name was Ross — 

FIRST POLICEMAN. 

What then? 

BENDIX. 

I should not then have called him Ass. 

FIRST POLICEMAN. 

Come, sir, you trifle; you must go with us. 

JOSEPH. 

But we are soldiers: we can stand our ground. 

[Drives out First Policeman with Ids layonet. 

BENDIX {to Second Policeman). 

Now, man, I am for you! 

[Policeman retreats springing his rattle; Ross aims his 
gun at Bendix. Enter Bryan with Soldiers. 

BRYAN. 

Put down that gun! 

ROSS. 

Your men here have been shouting rebel songs. 

BRYAN. 

What villain lie is that! How dare you, sir, 
Level your piece upon a Union soldier ? 



6 now MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT I. 

Such men as you it is that keep the city 

In a perpetual broil. For you it is 

That we have left our homes, our wives and children, 

To crush the vipers of your hot rebellion; 

Some in cold graves to sleep, some in warm shrouds, 

Enriching with our bones your traitor soil; 

Some to be burned with pestilential fire; 

Some to be mangled out of human shape; 

Some to be thrown to crows and some to dogs; 

Some driven forth upon a barren life. 

With neither eye to see nor hand to feel 

What meagre dole the world calls charity: 

Ay, sir, and some with alien minds, to stare 

Expressionless, forgetting the old time, 

Playmates and friends, neighbors and kith and kin, 

Dear mother and sweet home. 

ROSS. , 

Upon my soul, 
You have most wretchedly mistaken me: 
I am a Union man. 

BRYAN. 

You are a liar, 
Whatever else. I know the terms you keep. 
Your quips and quibbles and your reservations: 
You should be spitted on a bayonet. 
But I have marked your house. To-morrow night 
You sleep at the Old Capitol. 

ROSS. 

Good sir! 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 7 

BRYAN. 

Get in to bed! I'll come for you to-morrow. 

[Exit Ross. 
Enter other Policemen; a rabble following. 

THIRD POLICEMAN. 

What brawl is this ? 

BRYAN. 

One that needs you not, 
Since I have quelled it. 

Enter Anderton. 

ANDERTON. 

What, Lieutenant Bryan, 
Is this a tumult of our soldiers' making ? 

BRYAN. 

No, Captain Anderton, unless the bird 
Is guilty of the gun that kills it; no! 
I say thus much, that, coming up the street, 
I saw a wretch, there, on that balcony. 
Who made this man his target, envious, 
No doubt, of Jackson's fame, who killed brave Ells- 
worth: 
And when I taunted him, the brazen traitor 
Swore on the man such a transparent lie — 
How he had heard him shouting rebel songs, 
The wonder is I did not shoot him down. 
This Bendix I well know; an honest man 
And a brave soldier. 

ANDERTON. 

I dare say; but this man, 
He who lives here, is not a bit less loyal: 



8 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT I' 

The trouble is, he has no sense of music: 

The rapture of a very angel's harp 

Might seem to him the rattling of a drum: 

Take, then, your honest friend along; and say 

No more. 

\_Distaiit martial mum. 

Enter Boy. 

BOY. 

A regiment! a regiment! 

[Exeunt all but Anderton. 

E?iier Charteris. 

ANDERTON. 

Why, doctor, what can bring you out so early ? 

CHARTERIS. 

Good news. 

ANDERTON. 

Good news ? yet not a victory ? 

CHARTERIS. 

A woman's victory! The colonel's wife 
Has played so well the batteries of her eyes. 
Our regiment will stay. 

ANDERTON. 

What! in the city? 
And call you this good news, to rust in camp. 
With drooping banners? What's here to do save 

merely 
To strut and mince and card and compliment. 
Lift veils and play with fans and be the fools 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 9 

Of tailors ? Pah, I'd rather mess with hens, 

Or swear allegiance to a mocking-bird! 

Could you but dream how vexed I am ! Great Heaven ! 

A regiment is made a woman's toy. 

CHARTEHIS. 

Ah, did you know the woman that I know, 
You'd make no quarrel with remaining here! 
There lives a lady in this Washington, 
So drest in grace, her very sight will kindle 
The brightest torch that ever lit your soul: 
To see her is to love her; nay, it is 
To love for the last time; for she once seen, 
Once loved, you cannot love again. 

ANDERTON. 

You make me smile; I am too sad to laugh; 
I have known love, but now my soul is ashes, • 
And ashes will not burn. 

CHARTERTS. 

If seeing this lady you lose not your heart — 

ANDERTON. 

No more! I'll go with you. Here, in my hilt, 
There sleeps a diamond that sometimes mocks 
The morning-star. Find in me so much love 
As goes to fetching of a single sigh. 
This child of light shall serve you till you die. 

CnARTERIS. 

Lord save the man who thinks him Cupid-proof. 



10 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT I. 

ANDERTON. 

One moonless night I stood upon the deck 
Of a departing steamer, near the pier; 
When, on a sudden, from the landing came 
A woman's voice; and when I tell you 
I sought through half the world, for years, to hear 
Those tones again, it need be thought no wonder 
I made an oath to wed no talking thing 
Unless the rich possessor of that voice. 
High on the pier a lantern swung, revealing 
A fair young face, now faded like a dream. 
There spoke a woman that I might have loved. 
Ah me! what fate, what land, what envied sea 
Can hold her ? 

CHARTEEIS. 

You made an oath, you say. 
That you would never wed ^ith talking thing, 
Unless with her ? Know, then, to marry her 
Whom I shall show you, need not break your oath: 
Eudora's voice is only silence. 

ANDERTON. 

Dumb ? 
And I who all these desperate years have lived 
On the mere memory of a woman's voice, 
What should I have to do with lips that may 
Not speak? No, doctor, you shall be the one 
To fall in love! O yes, by all the Graces! 

CHARTERIS. 

I have a little woman in the north. 
Constant as yonder star. 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 11 

ANDERTON. 

God bless you both! 
But, my dear doctor, your wife is not dumb? 

CUARTERIS. 

No, not that I have heard: she has her faults. 
But dumbness is not one. Now, then, good-bye! 

ANDERTON. 

And peace go with you! 

CHARTERIS. 

To-morrow night, remember, 
I lead you to your destiny. Good-bye! 

[^Exeunt. 



Scene II. — Washington. Salon in the house of Madam 
Blanche. The river msiblefrom an open window. 

Enter Blanche and Bryan. 

BRYAN. 

Where is Eudora? 

BLANCHE. 

At the river-side. 

BRYAN. 

The river-side? No, no; I dreamed, last night. 
You rushed into my room like one distracted, 
Crying, "Eudora's drowned!" Is she alone? 



12 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT I. 

BLANCHE. 

She went alone. 

BRYAN. 

You have no fears for her? 

BLANCHE. 

t 

The water is no deeper than a brook. 
Besides, the visions of the night are half 
Wrought out from pictures of the day; and so 
Your dream was, doubtless. 

BRYAN. 

Thaft may be, indeed, 
For yesterday I read what Plutarch says 
Of Cleopatra's barge. 

BLANCHE. 

And so, you see, 
Cydnus became Potomac; Cleopatra, 
Eudora. 

BRYAN, 

Yes? I also dreamed she cried 
In vain for help. 

BLANCHE. 

Truly, a senseless dream. 
You knowing that Eudora cannnot speak. 

[Distant music. 

BRYAN. 

What music may that be? 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 13 

BLANCHE. 

It is a band 
Extempore, that plays against the ball ; 
And you shall hear it. 

BRYAN. 

No, I dare not stayr 
I'll follow to the river; I have known 
The unlikeliest dreams come true. 

BLANCHE. ^ 

By all means, go! 
[Exit Bryan. 
Enter Lucinda. 

LUCINDA. 

madam, madam, madam! 

BLANCHE. 

What's the matter? 

lucinda. 

1 have no legs to stand, no breath to breathe: 
Eudora! O Eudora! 

BLANCHE. 

She is not here. 

LUCINDA. 

Ah me! I knew that we should have no ball 
To-morrow night. Ah me! 

BLANCHE. 

Is it possible 
Such fears can work upon you so? For shame! 



14 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT I. 

LUCINDA. 

More like, I thought, 'twould be a funeral. 

BLANCHE. 

Lucinda, I have long since feared your wits 
Were much inclined to say good-bye to you. 

LUCINDA, 

Come to the window; you shall see the soldiers, 
The litter and the burden! 

BRYAN (without). 

This is the house. 

BLANCHE (at the window). 
It is her dress; her face: she's drowned, she's 
drowned! 

Enter several Citizens, white and colx/red, of both sexes, Soldiers 
and Musicians. 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

She is not dead? 

SECOND MUSICIAN. 

If she is, — which God forbid! — we might as well 
hang up our fiddles; but she opened her eyes once or 
twice. 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

It's not so rare, this turning of waltzes into dirges. 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

There was a smile on her face. She seemed to me 
almost conscious of what had passed. 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 15 

SECOND CITIZEN. 

I heard her speak. 



FIRST CITIZEN. 

Is it common for the dumb to speak? 
Enter Bryan. 



{Laughter. 



THIRD CITIZEN. 

Three cheers for Lieutenant Bryan! 

BRYAN. 

No, friends, it was not I who saved her: keep all 
your praise for Captain Anderton! Go, Dick, find 
Anderton, see that he has the best of tendance. 

DICK. 

Yes,- sah. 

[Exit Dick. 

SECOND CITIZEN. 

Did you hear the lady speak? 

BRYAN. 

I am sorry to say the lady cannot speak. 

SECOND CITIZEN. 

I would to God I were as sure of my salvation as I 
am that I heard her speak. 

Enter Dick. 

DICK. 

Cap'n Anderton's on de avenue, in a great crowd, 
'splainin' de affair. 

[Exit 



16 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT L 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

Come, we must hear him! 

[Bxeunt all. 
Enter Bendix and Ricardo. 

RICARDO. 

As for this paragon of all men's tongues^ 
Her best of merit is, she has no tongue. 

BENDIX. 

Amen to that, Mr. Ricardo ! Amen ! 

RICARDO. 

I pray to God the pretty thing's not dead. 

BENDIX. 

I would you prayed so for the love of her. 

RICARDO. 

I would you prated for the love of her. 
I gfant she is a wonder, but what of it ? 
Women are women, after all is said: 
Faithful, 'tis true; most faithful to their mirrors; 
Charming, 'tis true; most charming to their lovers; 
Loving, 'tis true; most loving to their cousins; 
Grateful, 'tis true; most grateful to the devil: 
All these fine qualities I freely grant. 

BENDIX. 

What are they to their husbands ? 

RICARDO. 

They are wives. 

BENDIX. 

Yet some men think them angels. 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 17 

RICARDO. 

And that some 
Are poets, lunatics and fools. 

BENDIX, 

Amen! 
But others think them devils. 

RICARDO. 

Let me ask you — 
Do devils lack reason ? 

BENDIX, 

I am certain not. 

RICARDO. 

Are they not constant? 

BENDIX. 

I presume they are. 

RICARDO. 

Have devils passion ? 

BENDIX. 

No, they're always cool. 

RICARDO. 

Do devils paint and powder ? 

BENDIX. 

I am sure not. 

RICARDO. 

And do they puff and frizz ? 

BENDIX. 

I quite believe not. 



18 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT L 

mCARDO. 

And pinch themselves together ? 

BENDIX. 

I should hope not. 

RICARDO. 

How then can women be compared to them ? 

BENDIX. 

I think because they make it hot for men. 

RICARDO. 

That is well said; but some are only peevish, 
Or discontented: that is the better sort. 
Observe, I do not praise them; would not praise: 
He that would mar a woman, let him praise her! 

BENDIX. 

But he who'd keep one good as she can be — 

RICARDO. 

Must surely keep her under lock and key; 
And hang a stick upon his mantel-tree. 

BENDIX. 

I hope you'll never marry. 

RICARDO. 

But I must. 

BENDIX. 

Or, if you do, it will not be Eudora. 

RICARDO. 

Bah, do not think that I would practise this! 
'Twould not be worth the pains. You asked me, 
sir — 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 10 

But go below and nose me out the news! 
Dispraise in every way, in all their ears, 
This Bryan, for I know he keeps both you 
And me, sir, in the shadow; and I hate him 
Worse than a grave. 

BENDIX. 

Ay, ay; leave me for that. 

RICARDO. 

And tell me if you see, within three hours, 

A flock of crows go by; and which way flying! 

BENDIX. 

What sign will that be ? 

RICARDO. 

f It's no matter what. 

Step down ! Come to my lodgings after ! 

BENDIX. 

Well, 
I will go down. 

[Exit. 

RICARDO {soliloquizing). 

Ricardo, thou must live; 
Thy back must feel its velvet, and thy legs 
Be curled upon a reasonable horse: 
But now, betwixt these things and thy poor corpus. 
Yawns a vile gulf; and by the very cross. 
Didst thou not fear the devil, thou mightst hurl 
Bryan's damned carcass down that very gap ! 
But thou art not an ass, good friend of mine. 



20 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT I. 

And with thy proper eyes hast thou beheld 
The only to be dreaded One, three times 
In Lima. No, my friend, my best of friends, 
Not quitee canst thou afford to dress thy soul 
In hell-fire; but by the Eternal Sin, 
So I can find a tool, one I can trust, 
One who dare sell his — What, a man there ? 
Enter Ross. 

KOSS. 

Ask your pardon ! 

RICARDO. 

No need, sir; I was taking, only taking 
A little exercise. 

ROSS. 

Have I the honor ? 
Is this the Lord Ricardo ? 

RICARDO. 

That is my name. 

ROSS. 

Be you the judge, then, since you have, they tell me, 
Protected, in some sort, one Bendix. 

RICARDO. 

Ah, yes ! 

ROSS. 

Well, sir, I know, sir, 'spite his indigo, 
He's a black rebel. 

RICARDO. 

What's your evidence?' 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 21 

ROSS. 

Read, that; it is my deposition! 

RiCARDO {reading). 
Last night! Ah, ha! So, so! sings rebel songs! 
I'll keep the paj^er. Be assured, good sir, 
I have an eye on him; and for the present. 
Let that suffice! It's clear he has abused you; 
But, sir, in this world satisfaction often 
Comes quicker by delay. See me again! 

ROSS. 

Be sure I will, sir! 

[Exit. 

RICARDO. 

One other grip on Bendix! 
I would to Heaven the fool were some less coward, 
So I might use him in this devilish matter. 
Foxes and magpies! I can trust no man! 
Even myself might botch the fearful business; 
Yet that would leave no peacher's tongue behind: 
But ah, 'twould leave hell-pains; and what they are, 
I can imagine I should have no mind to. 

[Exit. 



Scene III.— J. street. 

Enter Johnson whistling ; afterward, Dick. 

Johnson. 

Rag! mat! How dare you run on a gentleman in 
that manner ? 



22 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT I. 

DICK. 

Never mind, sah! 

JOHNSON. 

But I do! Come back here and apologize! 

DICK. 

Dogon't, sah, if I will, to any black nigger in de 
Christendom, sah. You's nuthin' but a contryband, 
anyhow, sah. 

JOHNSON. 

How dare you insult the superior cook of this estab- 
lishment, you wretched polisher of what your betters 
tread on! Answer me, broom-brush! 

DICK. 

You ole paste-diamond, ruffle-shirt, shinyboot, I 
was de runner for dis yere house, yars ago, long afo' 
you ever set yoar black heel in dis capitol, sah. 

JOHNSON. 

Are you now running an errand for Mistress 
Blanche, you sooty monster ? 

DICK. 

I's gwine to de apothecary's, sah, for life an' deff; 
for de salts pneumonia, sah. 

JOHNSON. 

Vanish, then, or I wipe my boots on you! Next 
time, remember! Get on, I say ! 



DICK {starting to run). 
You is de devil's own pot-hook, sah. 



\ Exeunt. 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 23 

Enter CnARTEms and Andetiton. 

CHARTERIS. 

When first you saw her she had on a veil ? 

ANDERTON. 

But, on a sudden, the light India gauze 
Was lifted in the wind, revealing her. 
O, not an atom of my incarnate being 
But seemed the eagerest to be most near her; 
And every disk of blood rushed by the others, 
Thrilling foremost to meet her! That little breeze 
Changed my life's course, and blew me on a voyage 
Whose haven will be life or death for me.- 

CHARTERIS. 

And irresistibly you followed her ? 

ANDERTON. 

I followed her with my eyes; I saw her walk, 
As if enchanted by the river scene, 
Toward the false edge of the deserted wharf; 
The rest is like a dream: but she was saved. 

CHARTERIS. 

Our fates come round so strangely in this world: 
A day since you had neither seen nor thought 
To see her. 

ANDERTON. 

But in that most precious time 
I have demanded her of awful Death : 
Angels enough there are in heaven without her; 
She lies there now, most peacefully asleep 
In her enchanted chamber. 



24 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT 

CHATITERIS. 

Ah, you should see her paint upon the air 
The words she cannot speak! 

ANDERTON. 

Is it possible ? 
Is this the wonder who you said was dumb ? 

CHARTERIS. 

The very one to marry whom I said 

Need break not that preposterous oath of yours 

Never to wed with any talking thing 

Save with the owner of a certain voice. 

Enter Blanche and Lucinda. 

BLANCHE. 

O doctor, doctor, — and you, also, captain, — 
Prepare to doubt your ears! 

LUCINDA. 

Yet thanks to Heaven! 

CHARTERIS. 

Strange to thank Heaven for doubting of our ears! 

BLANCHE. 

Eudora's waked. 

CHARTERIS. 

How very singular! 

BLANCHE. 

And she is praying. 

LUCINDA. 

Before the Virgin. 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 25 

ANDERTON. 

'Tis well. 

BLANCHE. 

Why, gentlemen, is it not the strangest thing 
That ever happened ? 

CHARTERIS. 

It seems not strange to me. 

BLANCHE. 

Then there is nothing strange. How often, pray, 
Has your experience known the dumb to speak ? 

ANDERTON. 

Speak! 

CHARTERIS. 

Speak! What do you mean ? 

BLANCHE. 

Did we not tell you 
Eudora's voice had come ? Did we not tell you 
That she could speak ? that she was praying ? 

CHARTERIS. 

You told us she was praying; and you said 
" Before the Virgin;" not that she could speak. 
An idea strikes me; I must note it down. 

[Writes. 
To cure the dumb, best way is to half-drown them. 

BLANCHE. 

You think it was the shock that cured her, then ? 



26 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT I, 

CHARTERIS. 

No doubt of it. 

LUCINDA. 

Well, then, I favor shocks. 

BLANCHE. 

Eudora's first wish now is to pour out 

Her deepest gratitude to him who saved her : 

Pray you, come in! 

ANDERTON. 

I will obey her wish, 

Only to tell her that all thanks are mine. 

Farewell! 

[Exit 

BLANCHE. 

And you, too, doctor. 

CHARTERIS. 

Thank you, madam! 
[Exeunt. 



Scene IV. — A salon in the same house. Eudora kneeling 
before a picture of the Virgin. 

Enter Anderton, pausing on the threshold. 

EUDORA. 

And I, alas! what can I give to thee 

For this great gift which thou hast given me ? 

ANDERTON. 

O Heaven, it is that voice, that very voice! 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 2*7 



Thou hast informed my lips; and now, I pray, 
Inform my heart what language it shall say! 
O kindest Mother, can I yield thee less 
Than all I am, my hopes, my happiness, 
My days, my nights ? — 

ANDERTON. 

Can I more hear and yet 
Command my tongue ? — Eudora! 

[She rises and advances. 

EUDORA. 

My preserver! 

sir, what more, what better can I call you ? 

ANDERTON. 

Call me plain Anderton! {Takes her hands.) And O, 
I beg you, 

1 do beseech you, listen! Years ago, 
Seven years ago it was this very night, 

I heard your voice; it could have been no other: 

Only to find the owner of that voice, 

I sought through half the world, but never once 

Until to-night have heard it. I had sworn 

That I would never wed with talking thing 

Unless with her whose magic tongue so thrilled me: — 

Nay, nay; why speak I thus ? why look you so ? 

I have offended you. 

EUDORA. 

No, Anderton, 
(For this you let me call you,) do not think 



28 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT I. 

So frank a speech unwelcome; but, in truth, 

It must have been some other tongue you heard. 

ANDERTON. 

Seven years ago, upon a steamboat-landing, 
Not far from here, you laughed and talked at mid- 
night, 
With friends who went on shore. 

EUDORA. 

Ah yes, true friends! 
That very night the fever came upon me. 
Which left me dumb. But ah, why speak of this ? 
I have so many thanks for your devotion. 
Long life were short to pay them. 

ANDERTON. 

O, say not so, since to the saving you 

I owe the crown of all my happiness, 

Whose jewel beggars the wide world besides! 

I pray, Eudora, do not look so cold; 

This is no sudden suit! O, do not say 

That I have sought you all these years in vain! 

For even as a pilgrim, who had come 

In olden days with burning heart and hand. 

Fighting his way to far Jerusalem, 

Only to fall before the holy shrine. 

So yearns my soul to yon. Upon my knees, 

Let me entreat that I may be to you 

Lover and slave and worshipper and husband! 

Still, still you pause: ah, there is hope in that! 

A tear! I see a tear upon your cheek: 

Say not the meaning if it mean regret! 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 29 

EUDORA. 

O Anderton, I doubt not of your truth 

And honor and all gentle qualities; 

Yet this your suit, though seeming long to you, 

Remember, is but very brief to me. 

ANDERTON. 

You give me hope, Eudora ? 

EUDORA. 

Let us all hope! 

ANDERTON. 

Those blessed words might flatter from their rounds 
The stars, if they could hear, the very stars, 
Making: them wander in a sweet confusion, 

EUDORA. 

But do not hope too much! 

ANDERTON. 

Nay, this is cruel! 

EUDORA. 

Anderton, it is not meant to be! 

When you surprised me here — for truly, sir, 

1 had not thought so very soon to see you — 
I was in act of giving up to God 

All that I am and am to do, or be. 
Wedding the service of pure maidenhood. 

ANDERTON. 

If you had made this holy vow, Eudora, 

It were enough. I'd ask your leave this night 



30 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [acT I, 

To call you " Love," and with to-morrow dawn 
Would straight away and leave you here alone; 
And I should try, should try, I say, to live: 
But what would my life be? 

EUDORA. 

Away ? away ? 
Surely you would not leave me! By these tears 
Do you not see my very heart is touched ? 
Leave me ? O Anderton, you must not leave me! 

ANDERTON. 

And you, Eudora, do you not perceive 

This vow would take you quite away from me ? 

O, let me ask, must not a wife love God 

More than a maiden can ? And yet, Eudora, 

If you have made a solemn vow to Heaven, 

Perish my haj^piness, my life, my all. 

Before I help you break it! Never would I 

Besmirch the purity of your sweet oath, 

Nor any seal of Heaven would I undo; 

But if your wishes rhymed not with your words. 

If in your soul there nested but one doubt 

God would approve this pledge of maidenhood. 

Then will I risk my hopes of joy beyond 

To have you feel it was an icy vow, 

Unhonored and unblest where angels live. 

EUDORA. 

God guide me, Anderton! and so farewell 
Until to-morrow. 

ANDERTON. 

Shall no more be said ? 



i 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 31 

EUDORA. 

No more, to-night, I beg you. 

ANDEKTON. 

If it must be, 
Why then, what can I do but say farewell? 
How fearful sad a word is this " farewell," 
I never dreamed before. To-morrow, say you ? 
Who knows that we shall ever see to-morrow ? 

EUDORA. 

If love give life, are we not sure to live ? 
To-morrow evening, just before the ball. 
We may come here together. 

ANDERTON. 

How far away 
That sounds! it seems to me a thousand years: 
In that long time kingdoms might rise and fall. 
'Twill be an age before the morning breaks, 
A long, dark age; and then a darker one 
Before sun sets. Less time could build a world 
As joyful and as sorrowful as this. 

LuciNDA {without). 
Eudora! 

EUDORA. 

Hark, it is Lucinda's voice! 
Yes, I am coming! Did you hear her call ? 

ANDERTON. 

I heard harsh lips profaning your dear name; 
But I will go; nor need you say farewell, 



32 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT I, 

Since I shall fare most ill. Better — adieu. 
For that entreats us to the care of God. 

EUDORA. 

All Heaven be with you till to-morrow night! 

ANDERTON. 

Before to-morrow night it cannot be, 

But then it may; and in that glorious hope 

I'll rest as Christians do before they die. 

LuciNDA {without). 
Eudora! 

EUDORA. 

Yes, I am coming. Shall I go? 

ANDERTON. 

No, I will go; and, not to wound my ears, « 
I'll only whisper to your hand farewell. 

[Kisses lier hand. 
'Twill be so long before to-morrow night. 
We shall not know each other when we meet. 

EUDORA. 

Nay, Anderton, true love should keep us young! 

ANDERTON. 

O, never in all time have joy and sorro^t" 
So smiled and frowned as they will do to-morrow! 

[Exit. 

[Eudora seeks the picture and kneels with clasped hands. 



SCENE 1.1 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 33 



ACT 11. 

Scene I. — A salon in the house of Madam Blanche. 
Enter Peps and Ricardo 

RICARDO. 

I presume that, being the so-called servant, or more 
properly, as I may say, the right-hand man of Bryan, 
you knew this Ross affair from top to bottom. 

PEPS. 

All I know is that the drunken man's name was 
Bendix. I have no memory ; something's gone here. 

[Pointing to his forehead. 

RICARDO. 

No more ? Well, Peps, I wish you good-morning. 

[Exit. 
Enter Bramble. 

PEPS. 

Just in season, Bramble, to be out of season ! You've 
missed the Baron. 

bramble. 
"What will the great man have now ? 

PEPS. 

The story of the Ross — yes, the Ross matter. 
What do you think he calls you ? Anderton's attache ! 



34 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT U. 

BRAMBLE. 

Things wont last always. 

PEPS. 

He told me, too, about the Butterfly Ball. By the 
way, Bramble, that countersign to-night : what is 
it? 

BRAMBLE. 

"Papilio," I told you. 

PEPS. 

" Papilio" ? " papilio" ? I can't remember that. 

BRAMBLE, 

I said "papilio"; and now, again, "papilio." 

PEPS. 

Is that the name of some general ? 

BRAMBLE. 

No, faith! but it's a general name : it means a but- 
terfly. 

PEPS. 

I'm afraid, when I come to give the countersign, I 
shall say " butterfly" and not " papilio." 

BRAMBLE. 

Whistle it ! sing it ! draw it out thus : " pa-peel- 
ye-o" ! 

PEPS. 

Pa-peel-ye-0 ! How draws that ? 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 35 

BRAMBLE. 

King Bull-frog should have had that voice. But 

will you go ? 

[Exeunt. 
Enter Blanche and Chartbris. 

BLANCHE. 

Is not the butterfly a kind of miller ? 

CHARTERIS. 

The boldest one that ever tolled for sweets. 

BLANCHE. ; 

I do not mean a miller, but a moth. 

CHATERIS. 

Moths are the butterflies that soar betwixt 

The night and morning ; and most rich they are : 

And then there is another pretty sort, 

Handmaidens only to the twilight stars. 

And these the learned call sphinxes. Thus you see, 

That I might have the ball you give to-night 

Mean something, I sent on to all the mercers 

For pattern coats and gowns of all my moths 

And butterflies ; and they have matched a portion. 

BLANCHE. 

Yet, as I hear, your city of New York 
Surrenders on demand. This letter says 
Your moths and butterflies have numerous tints 
Her silks and satins will by no means match. 

CHARTERIS. 

This is a lesson I would have them learn : 
Papilio is immortal. Towns and cities 



36 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT II. 

Go down betimes. What makes the wind so sad 

But thinking on the cities which have been, 

Above whose graves he is condemned to roam ? 

What makes Papilio so light of heart 

But that she knows her other name is Psyche, 

And she must fly within the light of stars 

When crowns and sceptres have been lost in ashes ? 

Therefore I say. All hail, Papilio ! 

All hail thou brighter bird, thou winged flower ! 

BLANCHE. 

Lover of nectar and the day's clear beams ! 

CHARTERIS. 

Prince of the spring and monarch of the summer ! 

BLANCHE. 

Dear cousin of the tulij^ and the rose ! 

CHARTERIS. 

Child of the sun and darling of the air ! 

BLANCHE. 

'Tis thine, Papilio, to lead the dance 

Upon the village green, the dance of life; 

To make the cold-eyed cowslip amorous, 

And turn the heads of matron flowers with love! 

CHARTERIS. 

And now, good madam, by your gracious leave, 
My human moths and butterflies might pass 
Across your vision, there, as in a glass. 

BLANCHE. 

Well, then, magician, you shall have my leave. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 37 

CHARTERIS. 

This flowering almond I will make my wand : 

Papilio, flit thou forth ! 

[Kilter, dancing to the sound of didant music, the Guests 
of the approaching Ball masked and habited as moths 
and butterflies ; tlieir icings (of moderate dimensions) 
fastened at the shoulders. They dance at the rear of 
the stage. Eudora seen among them. 

BLANCHE. 

Bravo, my friend ! 
What butterfly is that of clouded yellow ? 

CnARTERIS. 

Why, " Clouded Yellow" is itself her name. 

BLANCHE. 

And that in royal purple prankt with white ? 

CHARTERIS. 

It is the " Emperor." 

BLANCHE. 

And she so mottled 
Of browns and reds with whom the "Emperor" 
dances ? 

CHARTERIS. 

That is the "Painted Lady," the "Belle Dame"; 
She dines in Asia, sups in Africa, 
Sports in America ; and, for aught I know, 
Sleeps in Elysium. 

BLANCHE. 

And what is she 
Who apes the purple, and whose every wing 
Is gorgeous with an eye ? 



38 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 

CHARTERIS. 

That is the Queen 
" Vanessa lo," " Omnium Regina." 

BLANCHE. 

And what is he who leads her in the dance, 
Whose coat outglories all the woods of autumn ? 

CHARTERIS. 

That is the "Admiral." 

BLANCHE. 

And what is he 
So like a leopard marked ? 

CHARTERIS. 

That's one who flies 
In the black air, when good folks are asleep : 
It -is the " Tiger-Moth:" 

BLANCHE. 

And there is one 
Most heavenly blue. 

CHARTERIS. 

That is the " Fighting Argus" ; 
Next, in bright yellow, is the " Brimstone Beau." 

BLANCHE. . 

But look, O look: there's one has just now come 
Whose -corselet wears a grinning death! What's he ? 

CHARTERIS. 

That, madam, is the Herald to the Fates, 

The Imp of Acheron, the " Death's-Head Moth," 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! S\ 

With wings as heavy as a funeral pall : 
There are some men who think its doleful cry 
The dread alarum of on-posting death; 
Those awful sockets in its tabard glowing 
Remember to their minds the eyeless ones, 
The staring tenants of the sepulchre. 
But hence, Papilio! The flowery mead — 

BLANCHE. 

The thymy down, the grassy glade, the hedgerow — 

CHARTERIS. 

The sunny day, the dewy night await you! 

[ Waves his wand; Dancers exeunt. 

BLANCHE. 

I will not have this " Death's Head " at my ball. 

CHARTERIS. 

It was Ricardo's fancy; and besides. 

Is it not well to temper joy with sadness? 

However empty be a living skull, 

A dead one is most precious full of wisdom. 

BLANCHE. 

Long live Aurelian! 

CHARTERIS. 

Long live Madam Blanche! 

{^Exeunt. 



40 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE I [ACT II. 

Scene II. — Washington. The corner of a street. 
Enter Bendix and Ricardo 

mCARDO. 

Pest! Did I not tell you ? By the Cross, 
If this were Lima, I'd have had your blood! 

BENDIX. 

I'm very glad, then, it is Washington. 

RICARDO. 

Who knows but you've already let the heart out 
Of all this business ? The police dej^ose 
A man like you it was that led the brawl. 
So whiskered and so featured; and they say, 
Explicitly, you were drunk. Moreover, sir. 
This Ross, the quiet of whose drowsing house 
You shocked with traitor and unseemly songs. 
Knows well the lady Blanche. I tell you, sir, 
I'll lie for you no longer; else my soul 
Will be as black with lies as yours with crimes; 
But I'll declare you for the thing you are — 
A hated bounty-jumper and deserter. 

BENDIX. 

Stop, stop! Don't talk so loud! 

RICARDO. 

Ay, but I will! 
'Twould ease my conscience if the world might hear. 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 41 

BENDIX. 

Yes, yes, Ricardo, and would give to death 
The very best friend that you ever owned! 

RICARDO. 

You blab my secrets, and you call it friendship. 
Have I not almost damned myself for you ? 
What have you done for me ? 

BENDIX. 

Some things too mean to speak. 

RICARDO. 

Save, then, your cursed breath! But your advantage 
Was equal mine. Why did you slander Bryan, 
Unless to share the fortune of my marriage ? 
Eudora mine, moneys were there for you 
As well as me. 

BENDIX. 

Twice in your service I have risked my neck. 

RICARDO. 

And I in yours, a hundred times, my soul. 
But this must end; and yet, on one condition, 
I'll not betray but aid you. 

BENDIX. 

Name it, then! 

RICARDO. 

The day you broach it I shall claim your life. 

BENDIX. 

So do! . . . 



42 



HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [acT II. 



RICARDO. 

Answer me, then! What's the one thing 
I wish ? 

BENDIX. 

Fortune. 

RICARDO. 

You seek the same. What is 
Our road to it ? 

BENDIX. 

Your marriage. 

RICARDO. 

Who blocks that road ? 

BENDIX. 

I quite believe with you, sir, it is Bryan. 

RICARDO. 

What must be done, then, sir ? 

BENDIX. 

What must be done ? 



RICARDO. 

That is the question, sir. 



BENDIX. 

What must be done ? 



RICARDO. 

Pest! Why do you echo me? It is 
The plainest question in the world. 



BENDIX. 

Why, yes! 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 43 

RICARDO. 

Well, sir? 

BENDIX. 

Well? 

RICARDO. 

Still do you parrot me ? 
What must be done ? Is not the answer plain ? 

BENDIX. 

I have too much to reckon for already: 
I take your meaning; but I cannot do it. 

RICARDO. 

Why not, dear sir? You will be damned as 'tis; 
You cannot make it worse. 

BENDIX {crossing himself). 

Are you in earnest ? 

RICARDO. 

The money of an Astor would not buy 
Masses enough to save you. 

BENDIX. 

Do not mock me ! 

RICARDO. 

I tell you what I think ; and I'm well studied : 
Pluck all the pleasure in this world you can, 
You'll find none in the next ! And, if suspected. 
Am I not here to tell them how I knew you 
Even as a boy ? immaculate, small boy. 
So truly righteous that you never smiled ; 
And how with wonder and solicitude 
I watched your upward striving, year by year, 



44 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 

Until at fast you fitted for the church; {Hat ha!) 
And would be preaching at this very hour, {Ha! ha!) 
But for your country's voice, which called so loud 
You dropped your black robes with a godly sigh 
And gave your thousand virtues to the army ? {Ha / 
ha! ha!) 

BENDIX. 

I only wish 'twere true. 

RICARDO. 

So it shall seem. 

BENDIX. 

Ay, sir, but seeming is not being! 

RICABDO. 

So? 
Dear innocent, I find you know so little 
Of this great world ! Why, let me tell you, sir, 
To seem is everything, to be is nothing; 
'Tis less than nothing : it is worse than nothing ; 
For, sir, if to be honest I take pains. 
What's my reward ? 'Tis naught but honesty; 
And honesty's no coin to buy us meat. 
And if I seek me to be virtuous. 
What's my reward ? Why, it is only virtue : 
And virtue is the ice to every joy ; 
And would I be religious, what's my gain ? 
'Twere little else but pray myself asleep. 
Whiles all the wiser wily pick my pocket. 
Therefore to seem is better than to be. 
To he is but a pauper, who consorts 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 45 

With paupers, eats and drinks and sleeps and dies 
With paupers, and with pauperdom is buried ; 
To seem, good sir, is no such fool as this : 
He walks in state, he dines in state, he rides 
In state, he drives in state, he dies in state, 
And when he dies he is laid out in state. 

BENDIX. 

Then whirls to hell, sir, in a coach and six. 

RICARDO. 

I say not that. But now I leave you, man ; 

You will consider this ? It is my wish 

To prop you even to a place of honor ; 

Therefore, consider ! 

\ExU. 

BENDIX. 

I will consider long: 
O, could I once relieve me of his lordship, 
Never again would I let fall my story 
In ears less dull than asses' ! No, by faith, 
I would not whisper it even to the moon! 
C) for the day when I can pay this Baron 
In his own money! But patience, Bendix, patience ! 

Enter Charteris «?i6f Anderton. 

CHARTERIS. 

The very voice, you say ? 

ANDERTON. 

The very voice! 
Ah, my dear doctor, there's an unseen hand 
Weaving our webs of life even while we sleep! 



46 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [A.C1 11. 

CHARTERTS. 

I was about to say that I had seen 
Eudora. 

ANDERTON. 

Ah, would I had been so blest! 

CHARTERIS. 

She walked upon the lawn pausing midway — 
And in her pausing such a matchless grace 
As keeps the humming-bird upon the air ; 
So might Olympian Mercury have stood, 
Breathing a message to the sons of Greece. 
O, she was born millenniums too late! 
She should have lived in other times than ours: 
The hand of Phidias or Cleomenes 
Might have bequeathed her to the palaces 
Upon the Seine or Arno. 

ANDERTON. 

O my friend. 
Had you beheld her in her praying robes ! 
There in the silver setting of the light, 
Her radiant hair upon her shoulders floating, 
She knelt in thanks to God. Yes, there is One, 
And only One poor feeble man can thank 
For his best gifts! I stood in ecstasy ; 
And while her grateful heart poured from her lips. 
Like music's fountain, I believed the saints 
In the deep niches bent their heads to hear. 
Unconscious, I advanced a little space ; 
At last I spoke: she rose, and joyously 
Extending her dear hands, came quickly toward me; 



SCENE n.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 4:1 

And I to her seemed as if swept along: 
And so we met as you have seen two clouds 
Kissed by the sun in summer : but this time 
The sun was love. 

Eiitej' Poor Parlow, looking back. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Hurrah, little wheels ! hurrah ! boorooboloo ! Go 
it, I say ! Hurrah for the big wheels ! ha ! ha ! Did 
you see that, sirs ? 

. ' CHARTERIS. 

What do you mean, my boy ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

I say, sir, what a race ! But the little wheels got 
the better of the big ones, didn't they ? 

CHARTERIS. 

It is the President's carriage. 

POOR PARLOW. 

If that was the President, I wonder he didn't take 
the part of the little wheels. 

ANDERTON. 

Poor fellow ! It's a sad world, doctor, that has 
room for such freaks as this. 

CHARTERIS. 

Many a wise man is less happy. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Why, this is better ! Look there, sirs ! {Pointing 
up.) 



48 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 

CHARTERISc 

Yes; what is it, boy? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Bless my soul! Don't know the steeple-vane man ? 
I'll call and you shall see him turn. Boorooboloo! 
hoot, there! Ha! ha! You see, sirs, how I manage 
him. Well done! I'll give you some breakfast by 
and by. 

ANDERTON. 

Here is money for the vane-man's breakfast. 

POOR PARLOW. 

So, sir ? But I have some flies for him. He's a 
dainty man. Hoot, there! 

ANDERTON. 

Will you not take the money, my poor rambler ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

By-bye, soldier-man ! I love music and I love the 

moon; but I'm only Poor Parlow. 

[Exit. 

ANDERTON. 

Doctor, we must go. How sadly touched his 
reason! 

CHARTERIS. 

A fall on the curbstone might have done it. 

ANDERTON. 

There's the ignominy. Let well men be humble! 
A modern sibyl once told me an idiot like this should 
one day do me service. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 49 

Enter Bendix and Rtcardo. 



RICARDO. 



Think of an anchorite who hugs his cave 
All days in the year but one; then rushes out 
Resolved on fight with unicorns and dragons; 
For such a man is Bryan! 



True it is; 
And I, by any slur upon his honor, 
Or some such wise, might stir him to a rage 
As easily as wink; but the more I think of it, 
The more I feel 'twould be ingratitude. 

RICARDO. 

Why, man, I picked you from the very ditch, 
Yet never have you piped this tune to me; 
Nor do I ask it. Gratitude! O faugh! 
'Tis nothing but a sentimental dream. 
Think not to palm your cowardice on me 
Under that specious mask! 

BENDIX. 

But, my dear Baron— 

RICAKDO. 

No huts for me, sir! Let us on to fortune! 



[Exeunt. 



50 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT II, 



Scene III. — A salon in the liouse of Madam Blanche. 
Twilight; afterwards moonlight. 

Enter Anderton. 

ANDERTON. 

O, she's SO pure a tMng, it seems to me 

Man's love almost defiles her! Lilies alone 

Should make her marriage-bed, and violets 

Her pillow. I just saw her as I passed: 

Her taper fingers held a posy drooping; 

Yet O, thought I, you are the only flower 

In all the world for me worth studying. 

Hark! hark! It is her stejD. She comes, she comes. 

What magic tread! She walks upon my heart. 

Ah me, the music in those rustling robes! 

Enter Eudora. 
Unmatchable Eudora! 

EUDORA. 

Anderton! 

ANDERTON. 

Alas ! I dare not ask you of my fate. 

Since that which might be is so near to heaven, 

Above my poor desert. 

EUDORA. 

If, in your mind. 
So all ungraced and weak a thing as I am 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 51 

Outrun your merit, surely it must be 
Because your love lends distance to my faults. 

ANDERTON. 

So fair a temple cannot hold a fault; 
Or, if there knocked a thousand, each and all, 
Once let come in, would turn to loveliest favors, 
The incense of the place must have such power. 

EUDORA. 

Anderton, if I but dared to hope! 

ANDERTON. 

1 know not what you wish that you might hope; 
But if my arm, my tongue, my pen, my sword 
Can hang your skies with fair realities, 

Then am I dedicate to that sweet service. 

EUDORA. 

Alas! my wishes are the desperate kind, 
Such as may never be the souls of acts 
Accomplishing essay. 

ANDERTON. 

If you can dream 
'Tis possible, it is not desperate. 

EUDORA. 

It is the conquering of my father's heart. 

ANDERTON. 

Could he refuse the slightest wish of yours ? 

EUDORA. 

Our fathers are not lovers. 



52 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT II 



ANDERTON. 

But they have been, 
And yours must always be. If his consent 
Be all you doubt, then is there naught to doubt. 

EUDORA. 

My father is a Southron, born and bred: 
To be a citizen of the Great Republic 
He counts an honor, but he thinks it more 
He first saw light upon the sacred soil. 
And he can answer when he's asked of it, 
" I am, sir, a Virginian !" In his eyes. 
The Northerners are meddlers; and your arms 
He hates to very death. O Anderton, 
What can I but despair ? 

ANDERTON. 

Dare I believe, 
But for this clanger, I might call you mine ? 

EUDORA. 

Can you not see I would not have you doubt it ? 

ANDERTON. 

May this be true, or am I in a dream ? 
Mine, do you say ? All mine ? 

EUDORA. 

O Anderton, 
If my dear father knew you as you are, 
Would he not make us happy ? 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 53 

ANDERTON. 

On my deserving, 
My heart can build no hopes: my trust is, only. 
Your wishes must be his. 

[A voice heard. 

EUDORA. 

Some one has called me. 

ANDERTON. 

O no, Eudora, it's the parrot's voice; 

[Her name heard. 
And there it comes again. 

EUDORA. 

Fie, Anderton, 
. How well you know it's not the parrot's voice! 

ANDERTON. 

If not, why then, it is a demon's call. 

EUDORA {laughing). 
You make me laugh almost against the mood; 
For, surely, you can have no true belief 
That even the fiends would envy us our love. 

[RiCARDO seen at the window. 

ANDERTON. 

Who knows what fiends might do, even those who 

live 
Inhabiting base flesh ? They like not worship 
Nor happy souls nor any blessed thing. 

RICARDO. 

Ah, ha! 



54 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT U. 

EUDORA. 

Hark ! Did you hear ? 

ANDERTOK. 

How very apt ! 
I half believe that rascally macaw 
Suspects our secret. 

EUDORA. 

Ay, and well he may. 
And you can smile at this, but you shall hear : 
I rose to-day so early, the sweet birds 
Were not yet done with morning, but still sang 
As if they lingered out their song for us. 

ANDERTON. 

Even so they did: I was abroad with them, 
To welcome in the dawn of this blest day ; 
And O, such wondrous jubilee they raised, 
I even doubted they were birds of earth, 
Deeming their nests might hang on heavenly trees, 
In fairer gardens than Hesperides. 

EUDORA. 

But did you note how grandly the sun rose ? 

ANDERTON. 

So grandly that it seemed to me, indeed, 
Another world was born, where none should weep, 
And you would be the empress of that world : 
First came the Dawn, who, like a modest bride, 
Unwilling fled the kisses of Her lord. 
Then paused upon the hills as if to breathe ; 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE ! 55 

And then, in sudden sheen of godlike robes, 
Swift to her side her radiant lover bounded, 
Seized on her virgin hand, as I on thine — 
And then — and then — 

EUDORA. 

Nay, nay, he gave no kiss ; 
For once again she fled as I do now. 
Farewell! farewell! 

ANDERTON. 

One only kiss he gave ; 
It was as if a rose had melted there. 
And flushed with joy the universal East. 

EUDORA. 

And must we be partakers of that feast ? 

ANDERTON. 

If any sin there was, 'twas done in heaven ; 
Repeated on the earth 'twill be forgiven. 

[Kisses her. 

EUDORA. 

You learn strange lessons from that lover sun. 

ANDERTON. 

If not said right, I could repeat this one : 
Fly not so soon; it has not yet come night. 
Unless your beauty make the dark seem light ! 

EUDORA. 

Is it not night when we can see the stars ? 



56 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [acT II, 

ANDERTON. 

Venus, alone, I see : O, magic sweet ! 

And where she smiles, the earth and heaven meet. 

[Music in distance. 

EUDORA. 

But hark! There falls the music of their band ; 
So soft as if it came from far-off stars, 
Or glided out with spirits when they pass 
The radiant openings of celestial doors. 

ANDERTON. 

It is a concert of the elves and fays: 

Such music should be heard when the moon sleeps 

Upon the peaceful bosom of a lake. 

Where all entranced the slumbrous lilies lie, 

And love, on beauty gazing, melts in tears. 

[Moon rises. 

EUDORA. 

Behold ! The one bright goddess of all time 
Even now begins her ^^rogress of the night, 
Enamoring the earth. 

ANDERTON. 

O, think of it, 
The same dear moon that shone on blushing Eve, 
In the First Paradise ! 

EUDORA. 

The very same 
That Here saw illumining the track 
Of her beloved Leander ! 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 57 

ANDERTON. 

The self-same 
That lighted home to his Penelope 
The world-famed Ithacan ! 

EUDORA. 

See, Anderton, 
What splendor in the leaves ! 

ANDERTON. 

I see a splendor 
More lovely far than any in the leaves. 

RICARDO. 

Ah, ha ! 

ANDERTON. 

Didst hear ? That is no parrot's voice. 
Let us away ! 

EUDORA. 

Ah me, it is the ball-night ! 
Pray, tell me, had you not forgotten it, 
So much more pleasant this ? 

Anderton. 

Could I forget, 
When I have all day wished aAvay the mask 
That you must wear to-night ? 

eudoea. 

But I shall know you ; 
I shall divine your presence. 



58 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT U. 

ANDERTON. 

And for me, 

Though you but whispered, I should feel your voice ; 

Though you but stepped, your motion : all the more, 

then, 

Shall I have leave to quarrel with your mask. 

But come, let us go in ! 

[Exeunt. 
Enter Ricardo. 

RICARDO. 

Two rivals in the field ! But neither knows 
What, by my soul ! they must be made to know. 
This very night I'll force a deadly breach. 
And so play off the one against the other : 
If both should fall, naught better ; if but one, 
The other shall be glad to run away. 
It's a deep scheme and has no need of Bendix. 

Enter Bryan. 

So, so ! Here Bryan comes. Pardon me, Bryan, 
And you shall know the reason of my question. 
( Confidentially.) Who is the lover of Eudora ? 



BRYAN. 

For one ! I love her as I do my sister. 

RICARDO. 

And Anderton you think a man complete. 
Wrapping no treachery in his friendly guise ; 
One you could leave upon a desert island — 
Alone — with her ? 



I, 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 59 

BRYAN. 

Alone ? I know not that. 
But this is not an island nor a desert : 
And yet a true friend could be trusted thus ; 
And Anderton, I think, is my true friend. 

RICARDO. 

You say you love her as your sister, Bryan ; 

Art suj-e it is not else ? And yet I beg 

You'll set the question to my friendship's credit. 

BRYAN. 

Whatever else it be, she knows it not. 

RICARDO. 

Ah, think you so ? or rather do you mean 
You have not told your love ? 

BRYAN. 

Ask me alone 
To storm a garrison ; pluck up the oaks ; 
Lift the world's roof ; invalidate the thunder ; 
Hurl back his angry foam down Ocean's maw ; 
Or to their cave whip home the insane winds : 
Any and all these trifles I can do 
More easily than say to her " I love you !" 
Deep in the dungeon of my aching heart 
Those martyred words are chained past power to 
loose them. 

RICARDO, 

Ah, by my soul ! that is a love indeed, 

Which very lips respect. Who loves that wise 

Will follow fate across the bridge of hell. 



60 . HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT 11. 

BRYAN. 

And so dare I. 

mCARDO. 

Know, then, your hour has struck ! 
For this fair girl, Heaven sees I wish her well ; 
But as for him, I have no wondrous faith 
In Anderton. Yet why should I advise ? 

BRYAN. 

Why should you not ? 

RICARDO. 

Why should I not ? Why not ? 
Certes, I will, then. First, within this hour, 
The most impassioned vows man ever made, 
Eudora's ears have drunk: 

BRYAN. 

Do you know this ? 

RICARDO. 

Past question! I not only heard these vows, 
But I beheld the saint and saw the man 
Who offered incense. 

BRYAN. 

Saw and heard ? Saw both ? 
And she — what said she ? 

RICARDO, 

Do not urge me that! 

BRYAN. 

She loves him ? 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 61 

RICARDO. 

Supposing so, what then ? 

BRYAN. 

I could not kill him ; could not cross her love. 

RICARDO. 

Who talks of killing ? 

BRYAN, 

Pardon me, not you! 
But O, there is a vulture at my heart! 
You know this man ? 

RICARDO. 

No better than you do. 

BRYAN. 

Is it Anderton you mean ? 

RICARDO. 

Well guessed, good friend! 

BRYAN. 

My case is hopeless. 

RICARDO. 

There is nothing hopeless. 
Will you be ruled by me ? 

BRYAN. 

No, sir; by no man ! 

RICARDO. 

But hear what I advise! Within this hour 

Your love must be made known. If, spite of that, 



62 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 

Your suit shall fail, there will be ample time 
And trees enough where you can hang yourself. 
My purpose is that you shall challenge him. 
Start not! We'll have no killing: it shall be 
Albeit a most immediate, actual duel. 
One all made up of bluster and pure wind; 
Not noisy either, for we'll have no guns, 
Nothing but swords, and dull ones if you like it. 
You shall but prick each other, yet out of that 
I'll tear love's palace down about his ears. 

BRYAN. 

Pray, tell me how! 

mCAEDO. 

Perceive you not the duel 
Will be the very clarion of your love, 
More potent than a thousand serenades — 
Though lingered out until the moon grow sick — 
Under her balcony ? 

BRYAN. 

But would this be an honorable thing ? 

RICARDO. 

Is not the duel another name for honor, 
The very house where reputation lives ? 

BRYAN. 

But what if he refuse ? 

RICARDO. 

And by that act 
Proclaim to her, to all the world besides, 
He'd rather keep the letting of his blood 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 63 

Than be the owner of her virgin sweetness, 
More fresh than arbute in the lap of May ? 
Better for you he should; but if I know 
His mettle, upon such a cause he'd fight 
With broken blade, both hands half tethered up, 
Nor fly before a wilderness of swords. 

BRYAN. 

As if I did not know how brave he is! 
But would he let his friendship stand aside, 
Even on this theme ? 

mCARDO. 

Friendship's a straw to love; 
Flashes therein — then, pish! away it goes. 
If you had seen him in the garden there. 
His every nerve up-knitted with entrancement. 
The windows of his raptured soul ablaze 
With Cupid's meaning fire! If you had heard 
Those tones more melting than the south wind sighs 
Whispering the flowers upon a summer's night — 

BRYAN. 

No more! By all the gods, I'll challenge him! 

RICARDO. 

It must be done at once, then, or too late; 
Even on the instant. 



BRYAN. 

And it shall be. 



{Exeunt. 



64 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 

Enter Guests icaltzing. They dance a few minutes; and then 
enter Charteris, gorgeously dressed, waving a wand. The 
dancing ceases. 

CHARTERIS. 

Papilio! sweet papilio, it is time 
To sup! The dainties wait. 

[Exeunt in couples. Charteris passes them in review and exit. 
Enter Bryan, Anderton, and Ricardo, unmasked. 

BRYAN. 

I love you, Anderton; no man shall say 
I do not. 

ANDERTON. 

Why then do you quarrel with me ? 

BRYAN. 

Here in my breast there is a playful demon 
Pushes me on to this against my will. 

ANDERTON. 

But let it be to-morrow, not to-night! 

RICARDO. 

Why not to-morrow ? Yet, indeed, just now. 
The maskers all but us being set at supper. 
No witness will be there, no servant eye 
Of scandal. 

ANDERTON. 

True, good friend; it is a point 

Well taken; for the which I thank you. Therefore, 

Since time stays not our leisure, let us out 

And play this farce where it is most befitting — 

By the moon's crazy light! 

[Exeunt, 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE 



Scene lY.— The edge of a garden. Moonlight. An arbor at 
one side. Distant dance- music. 

Enter Dick and Poor Parlow, opposite. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Boorooboloo, black boy! Tell me who you are 
and I tell you who I am. 

DICK. 

I is de runner for dis yar house. Dick's my name. 

POOR PARLOW. 

And I'm Poor Parlow. The cook-man says I must 
go away. 

DICK. 

Is you de idiot ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

I'm Poor Parlow, and I want to hear the music- 
men. 

DICK. 

Come wid me to de arbor. You can hide dere in 

de leaves. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Anderton, Bryan, and Ricardo, unmasked. 

ANDERTON. 

Ricardo, please dispose us as you will! 

RICARDO. 

Then, sir, you shall stand here; and you, good Bryan, 
In the same spot you are. 



HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 



ANDERTON. 

But pray, remember 
It was not I brought on this foolish quarrel. 

{^Clock strikes. 

RICARDO. 

That clock is wrong; but you are in the right: 
Therefore, attention, gentlemen; and proceed! 

{They draw. 
He who hits first, for him I'll stand the wine, 
Chateau Margaux, Clicquot, or other " O." 

BRYAN. 

Uncork, then, for I have it! 

RICARDO. 

No, not yet! 

ANDERTON. 

Yes, he has touched me, but I score the next! 

[ Wounds Mm. 

BRYAN. 

By Jove, you've broached my cask of Burgundy! 

No more! 

[Falls, dropping Ms sword. 

ANDERTON. 

Bryan, I hope I have not hurt you. 

BRYAN. 

My wine of life is running; that is all. 
'Tis I have hurt myself; it is my fault. • 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 67 

ANDERTON. 

O, curse me, Bryan, that I struck so hard! 
Where's Charteris ? O, for the love of God, 
Where shall I run for surgeons ? 

BICARDO. 

Anywhere! 
Yet nowhere! I will see to that. For you — 
Get on your horse and spur you to the quick. 
Else will the hangman be your nearest friend! 
For God's sake, fly! fly! I'll be his surgeon. 

ANDERTON. 

Ah me, what madness! I have played the fool, 
Shall I now play the coward ? 

BRYAN. 

O Anderton, 
If you still love me, I entreat you, fly! 

ANDERTON. 

If this damned careless thrust has ended you, 
Me, also, it shall end. 

BRYAN. 

O Anderton, 
You have no right to die! Away, I say, 
Away! away, before it be too late! 

RICARDO. 

The time will come when you may show yourself. 

ANDTV-S^rON. 

Can yon forgive me, Bryan ? 



68 HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE ! [ACT U. 

BRYAN. 

O yes! O yes! 
A thousand times " O yes"; only, begone! 
Your staying here'll not help me. Go, I beg you! 
'Tis my last wish: respect it! 

RICARDO. 

Get y6u gone, 
And I'll run in for Charteris! 

ANDERTON. 

Must I then, 
O, must I go ? Would I could die for you! 
Ricardo, friend, say to Eudora — 

RICARDO. 

She shall know all. Now, I command you, fly! 

[Exit Anderton. 
Where is your wound ? how deep ? 

BRYAN. 

Here in my side: 
I've lived so long, maybe it is not mortal. 

RICARDO. 

What! not mortal! Surely there can be no harm 

[Aside. 
In probing it: mayhap 'twill save his life. 
But should it kill him, that will be no more 
Than many a better surgeon 'has to think of. 
I'll probe it with my dagger. 

[Poor Parlow seen in the arbor. 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 69 

BBTAK. 

Gracious Heaven! 
What are you doing ? 

KICARDO. 

I'm only probing it. 

BRYAN. 

What's the curst need of probing ? There's no ball. 

O! O! help! help! O you vile wretch! 

[Dies. 

[RiCARDO drives his dagger into the ground with his 
heel and runs in. 

RICARDO (icithin). 
Ho, there, all the house! Come out, I say! 
There is a murder done. Bring lights! bring lights! 

Re-enter Ricardo. (Music ceases.) 

(Seeing Tooh'ParJjOw.) What! who is this? What 

are you staring at ? 
I'm not a hippopotamus. Come here! 
So, so! It is the idiot. This way! 
Who killed the man here lying ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Who killed the man ? 
Why don't you ask him who ? Boorooboloo, 
Sir Roundef all ! 

RICARDO. 

Did you not see a man 
Running away ? 



10 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 

POOR PARLOW. 

This fellow is not running: 
He's quiet as a mouse. 

RICARDO. 

Why, so he is! 

POOR PARLOW. 

Don't wake him! 

RICARDO. 

No? 

POOR PARLOW. 

I'll sit me down right here, 
And keep the flies off. 

Enter, with lights, Guests and Musicians. 

FIRST GUEST. 

What is the matter ? 

RICARDO. 

Matter enough to make true friends declare 
There's no such thing as friendship on the earth. 
If ever one man loved another man, 
I would have sworn that Anderton loved Bryan: 
But so this be the proper work of love. 
Then hate come in and be the better goddess ! 
O damned Anderton ! 

CHARTERIS. 

What! is it Bryan? 
And hurt by Anderton ? 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 71 

RICARDO. 

Killed, you may say, 
And Anderton is fled ! 

Enter Blanche and Eudora. 

ALL. 

Killed ! 

RICARDO. 

Even so. 

SECOND GUEST. 

What cause of quarrel had they ? 

RICARDO. 

God only knows : 
There was a woman in it. 

EUDORA. 

Speak! Who is killed? 

RICARDO. 

Madam, I scarce dare tell you. 

BLANcmi:. 
Ah me, it's Bryan ! What villain has done this ? 
[Blanche and Eudora kneel by the body. 

RICARDO. 

Ask some one else, I beg you ! Ask me not I 



72 HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE ! [ACT II. 

SECOND GUEST. " 

Madam, it seems that Anderton is fled. 

EUDORA. 

Pled ? Anderton ? O Heaven ! O, do not say 
'Twas Anderton ! 

SECOND GUEST. 

I only speak what Sir Ricardo says. 

EUDORA. 

Mr. Ricardo ! 

RICARDO. 

I hear. 

EUDORA. 

Dare you then tell us 
That Anderton did this ? 

RICARDO. 

I only know 
I found them here, Bryan and Anderton, 
Fighting with swords : rushed in to part them ; 
Was almost killed myself ; shouted for help ; 
Saw Bryan drop and Anderton run off. 

EUDORA. 

O God ! O God ! (Swoo7is.) 

BLANCHE. 

Dear doctor, see to her 1 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 73 

CHARTERIS. 

Here, gentlemen, pray, some of you make up 
A litter of your hands and bear this child 
Into the house, as gently as may be ! 
To you, Ricardo, as the friend of Bryan, 
His body be the melancholy care ! 
Alas, alas ! can I believe my eyes ? 
And yet why not, since order once was chaos ? 
And this thou knewest well enough, old brain. 
But thou hast been asleep. 

[Guests raise up Bryan und Eudora. 

Enter Lucinda. 



LUCINDA. 

O me, my life ! 
Whom do you carry here ? Bryan ? Eudora ? 
Dead ? O me ! O me ! For pity's sake. 
You men with instruments — put up ! put up ! 
We'll have no more of your excited balls. 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

Fie, fie, good woman ! when the time comes round, 
Our instruments will be in place again. 

SECOND MUSICIAN. 

And you will be the first to bid them play. 

LUCINDA. 

You've bored me out of patience, most, already. 



74 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT II. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Boorooboloo ! That is the sleepiest party 
I ever did. Let's wake him with a dance ! 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

Young man, no more of that ! 

LUCENDA. 

Indeed, poor soul ! 
I tell you, sirs, he knows not what he prattles : 
He wears a fool's cap. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 



15 



ACT III. 

Scene I.— ^ salon in the house of Madam Blanche. 
E7iter Peps and Ricardo. 

PEPS. 

ISTo, sir, ril not cut beard till I have revenge for 
Bryan ! I'll follow this Anderton to Labrador. 

mCARDO. 

And stick him like a matador. Peps, I approve 
you. By the Saints ! if I had such a Peps, Pd love 
him as no Peps was ever loved yet. 

PEPS, 

When I have done this thing— 

■Ricxnho. 

Why, then come to me ! Pll make you. But se- 
crete ! secrete ! It is the curse of my position here 
that I must seem to worship this man Anderton, to 
feel one way and speak another. I have to drink 
vinegar, smiling, swearing its eau sucre: but when 
Anderton goes above, when your good arm has add- 
ed him to the constellations, I can worship him m 
good faith. 



76 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT HI. 



Now, then, till I have killed the detestable, who 
killed my master — what was I going to say ? 

RICARDO. 

You'll not cut beard ? Is that the word ? 

PEPS. 

Nor beard nor finger-nails. 

[Exit. 

RICARDO. 

This fellow serves me without asking. True 'tis 

that Anderton dare not return : but how much better 

dare-not were ca7i-not. I may at least make it seem 

can-not. His hat lies there at my lodging ; and to 

say I found it blowing by the river's brink, might be 

a profitable saying. It will be a mere suggestion that 

he's drowned : it will not hurt him where he stays ; 

nor Bryan, who is past hurting ; nor the Madam 

Blanche ; nor her whose hand I covet — unless she 

put on mourning for that same — and mourning might 

become her. 

Enter Bramble. 

Where now. Bramble ? 

BRAMBLE. 

Where else but where my master is ? I tell you, 
Baron, things wont last always. 

RICARDO. 

Ah ! then you know his hiding-place ? 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 7V 

BRAMBLE. 

If I did I should be with him. 

RICARDO. 

You've heard the inquest ? 

BRAMBLE. 

Bribery, Baron ; bribery ! 

RICARDO. 

Everything was trumped up against your mas- 
ter. God knows I did my best to bring him off : 
but a blind man will not thank you for a looking- 
glass ; and a fool may ask more questions in an hour 
than a wise man can answer in ten years. 

BRAMBLE. 

Have you any idea where my master is ? 

RICARDO. 

I grieve to say, none ; but should you find him, bid 
him by no means come back without consulting me ; 
and fail not to post me of his whereabouts. 

BRAMBLE. 

I have a good scent. Things wont last always. 

RICARDO. 

'Twould be certain death for your master should he 
return now. Go, then ; luck be your comrade I 

BRAMBLE. 

Amen! 



78 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT III. 

RTCAKDO. 

Every wind blows my way ; every stream bears my 
vessel. Here, now, is tbe best messenger to Ander- 
ton I could find even by searching. Anderton gone, 
nothing stands in my way except, to be sure, down- 
right refusal of her hand ; but even that might be 
overcome. I'm only sorry that I probed the wound. 
It leaves me in a villainous doubt if Anderton's thrust 
was mortal. There is a quarter where they know 

these things ; and that's what fears me. 

[Exit. 
Enter Blanche and Eudora. 

EUDORA. 

Grateful to Anderton, who saved my life — 
To Anderton : — true, I was grateful once. 
But could. you see what now is in my heart ! 

BLANCHE. 

Now he has dragged your very noble friend 
To most ignoble death — ah me ! ah me ! 

EUDORA. 

Blanche, on that same night all gratitude 
Was swallowed up as if in some great whirlwind, 
So fierce, that were he at my fingers' ends, 

1 will not say when I should let him free ; 

I dare not answer what my hands, my eyes. 
My passioned lips might do were he so near. 

BLANCHE. 

I wonder not, for truly from my breast 
Absolute hate has for the time inked out 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 79 

Meekness and charity and all gentle thoughts ; 
And now, this Anderton — 

EUDORA. 

Madam, I beg 
You will not name that banished name again ! 

BLANCHE. 

Most well suggested ! When I speak of him, 
His name shall be " The Monster." 

EUDORA. 

O, no ! no ! 
Speak of him not at all, for each new time 
Wounds me again. 

BLANCHE. 

If that be true, Eudora, 

Myself and all the house command our tongues. 

The order shall be instant. 

[Exit. 

EUDORA. 

Excellent Blanche ! 
She thi-nks I loved poor Bryan ; and her hate 
For him I did love springs from that false thought : 
O, what a mask is this I now put on ! 
Loving, adoring, trusting Anderton, 
As no man was before trusted and loved, 
To seem the hater of his very name ! 
Yet must I so, until some circumstance. 
Not yet suspected, solve to all the world 



80 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IIL 

The riddle of his flight. O, thousand times 

More likely this Ricardo is a liar 

Than Anderton — alas, I cannot name it ! 

To slay his friend ! Why, 'tis not proof to thought, 

Unless, indeed, through fateful accident, — 

As by some careless hit, which every day 

Befalling even the innocent, sweet children. 

Puts Providence in doubt ; and yet not rightly, 

Since all that bloomed on earth must sweeter bloom 

In heaven. But O, what's this, this unblest shadow 

That feels its way across my trembling soul ? 

Is't not alone that he has seemed to fly ? 

Is he not dead ? Being instrument of death, 

Though all unwilling, has he not — ah me ! 

That solves the riddle ! Yes, it must be so ! 

No man has seen him, nor will ever see — 

Saving his breathless casket. 

Enter Lucinda. 

Speak ; what news ? 
I know you have some. 

LUCINDA. 

O, for mercy's sake, 
Let me find words ! Pity you have no pity 
For us old women ! 

EUDORA. 

Nothing in you, Lucinda, 
Persuades much thought of age ; and if there did. 
Why waste in empty preludes the same breath 
Which might as well earn thanks ? 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 81 

LUCINDA. 

But now I think of it, 
My lips are sealed ; and you must have the key. 

EUDORA. 

What dainty whim is this ? 

LUCINDA. 

I think it be, 
Indeed, upon my soul, a very strange one, 
To keep us all from even whispering 
That wretch's name. 

EUDORA. 

O, for my sake, Lucinda, 
What have you heard of him whom you call thus ? 

LUCINDA. 

Only that some poor soldier has just found 
The hat he wore, close by the river-bank. 

EUDORA. 

! O ! I beg of you, Lucinda, go ! 

1 cannot bear to. look upon you now. 

[Exit LUCINDA. 

Even as I feared ; and I — O misery ! 

What can I do but pray ? 

[Kneels. 

Enter Kicardo. 

Praying in silence ? 
Dare I disturb her ? 



82 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IH. 

EuDORA {rising). 

I thought myself alone. 

EICARDO. 

At such an hour, Eudora ? Deemed you, indeed, 
Though all the world else might abandon you, 
I could be so hard-hearted ? Were my friendship 
No better worth than that, better I had none. 
Friendship I call it, but how well you know 
Friendship's no name for that which chains me here! 

EUDORA. 

There was a time, sir, it is very true. 
Before I knew my heart, when I imagined 
Your suit was gracious to me. 

BICARDO. 

And that time—: 
May it not come again ? 

EUDORA. 

Nothing for me 
This world now holds but grief, grief, lasting grief. 
Enter Charteris. 

CHARTERIS. 

Mr. Ricardo, an officer outside 

Hands me this message. 

{^Oives a paper. 

mCARDO. 

I must needs obey. 
When have I met you but some cursed hap 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 83 

Straight parted us ? It is my fate, Eudora, 
To leave your tears unquenched. Farewell ! farewell ! 

[Exit. 

CHARTERIS. 

Dear child, I pray you do not weep, dear child ! 
It must be that he lives. Of proof he's drowned. 
There's not a straw's weight ; and I knew so well 
Both Anderton and Bryan, I can swear 
What blows they had fell only in fair play. 

EUDORA. 

Even if he lives, will they not have his life ? 
Ah, doctor ! Darkness, darkness everywhere ! 

CHARTERIS. 

O, be my hope, Eudora, the fair moon 

To gild this darkness ! Let us now go out 

Into the air. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene II. — A highway bordered with trees; a running spinng 
by the wayside. Noon. 

Enter York. 

YORK. 

Water, water : all's water ! Have I a water-wheel 
in my insides, that must needs be forever turning ? 
Am I a mill ? Not a strong smack in my throat, now, 
these seven days ! Seven days of water's an eternity 



84 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT IH. 

of water. 'Fore God, was a man made for no better 
end than a sponge ? I can think of no worse punish- 
ment for my sins than to have my soul turned into a 
jelly-fish. I'd rather die a thousand deaths by fire 
than a thousandth part of a death by water. When 
the world was made, the scaliest of God's creatures 
fell to the rivers and the ocean. So I keep on guz- 
zling this, I shall soon be little better than a frog. I 
shall have tides in my stomach and be a slave to the 
moon. Even now my gullet feels like the Bay of 
Fundy. Oxygen ! hydrogen ! That man who finds 
a better way of intermixing these two will be the 
coming man, the rarest of all philosophers. He shall 
have a monument raised by a tax on stills. I can- 
didly believe it's the water in us that makes us mor- 
tal. Get rid of these two gases and what's left but 
the spirit, the undying part ? If there is total absti- 
nence in the next world, it's total abstinence from 

water. 

Enter Anderton. 

May I be curst if that's not a blue-coat yonder ! Shall 
I pepper this fellow or let him season me ? I'll get 
me into the bushes and so cut him. How tired the 
man walks ! He'd rather sleep than fight, I reckon. 
There's something on his mind, too. One of those 
devils of spies might look that way. Dogon't, I'm 
a little afraid of him : I'll down on my belly. 

ANDERTON {Kneeling at the spring). 

Water, thank God ! I could drink myself to a dropsy, 
though all diseases welter in this gourd. Let the earth 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ] 



85 



eplit ! Bryan no more ; Eudora's life blighted ; and 
I— my name, Despair ! This rock has more hope in 
it, this water more dignity, yonder frog more re- 
solve. Nothing would so become me as an eager 
death, nothing so disgrace me as to think myself 
worthy the life I dare not take. {Drinks.) 

YORK. 

I never saw a man with so poor an opinion of him- 
self. He must believe himself another. Touched in 
the occiput, I fear. 

ANDERTON. 

Why do I live ? Why, but in hopes one day to 
nnstain my reputation ! O life, life, life ! But yes- 
terday the world was mine ; to-day— more poor than 
beggar in hi^ rags! Yesterday throned by the 
queen of women, the prince of happiness ; to-day, in 
ignominious flight, upon me pointed the pale, deriding 
fingers of all man-creatures. 

YORK. 

This fellow has queer ideas. A man who dotes that 
wise on his reputation I'm not afraid of. I'll out. 
Sir! 

ANDERTON. 

Well, who are you ? 

YORK. 

I'm not your enemy. The only enemy I have on 
earth at this time, dear sir, is water. G my God, have 
you a solitary drop of any kind of spirit ? The lime 



86 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [a€T III. 

in my bones is all water-logged like a porridge. Tell 
me, is not my jaw the color of sodden rice ? 

ANDERTON. 

I have but one enemy ; and he is nearer to me than 

JOVL. 

YORK (aside). ^ 

Cracked, sure enough ! 

ANDERTON. 

You speak of liquor. There is a flask I just now 
picked up, hoping it might hold water. You're wel- 
come. 

YORK. 

Poor lunatic ! (aside.) Ten thousand thanks ! 
The very smell is religious. I'll be your friend for 
this : give me your hand. (Drinks.) Even now a 
moral revolution goes on in me. Truly, sir, you have 
remade me a Christian. But how is it you do not 
notice my wear is gray ? Are you not afraid of a 
rebel ? 

ANDERTON. 

I am afraid of nothing but myself. 

' YORK. 

You may well need be, if you stuff yourself thus 
with rain. It is no less than an inundation of the 
gastric juice and the drowning of all virtues. But 
you seem to be in trouble : can I help you ? 

ANDEBTON. 

Can you bring a dead man to life? 



SCENE n.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE. 8t 

YORK. 

That is not my trade. 

ANDERTON. 

In plain truth, I have fought a duel ; and now live 
to repent it. 

YORK. 

I see not why, if you've killed one who deserved 
killing. 

ANDERTON. 

There was never a more foolish encounter. Friends, 
both ; real provocation, none ; the hateful stroke, a 
most careless thrust ! That I was forced to it I can 
prove ; but being fool enough to run away, I know 
not what ill turn a present arrest might take. Not 
for myself I care, but for one dearer to me than all 
else. Time only will set me right. 

YORK. 

You're sane, I see. Somewhere in this region 
there lives on his acres a rich Virginian. You shall 
put yourself in what gray I can spare you, and so we 
find this man's house, you shall rest there safe. As 
for my mansion, it's in the trees, yonder, under the 
sky's roof. Come with me and I'll furnish you such 
gray, you shall think it clouds to wear. I'll give you 
Jupiter's overcoat, as ragged as any that flaps on 
the heels of thunder. 



88 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT III, 



Scene III. — Salon: coffin of B^ya.-^, wrapped in the A7nerican 
flag, iiartly visible. Blakche, Eudoha, Charteris, Clergy, 
man, and a concourse of others. 

CLERGYMAN. 

Not in the shock, not in the din of battle, 
Not leading valor on to valorous deeds, 
Not in the cover of a brave retreat, 
Not in the hosj^ital nor on the march, 
But in the shame of private feud he fell ; 
And that which was the nation's due gave up 
To most ignoble end ; and were it not 
An undiscerning custom claims the rite, 
Should have no cerement of his country's flag, 
Nor be escorted home with honor's dirges : 
But rather should his corse — 

BLANCHE. 

O sir, I beg ! 
Why need you in the presence of his friends 
Impeach the memory of one so noble ? 
Far closer would your sermon fit the villain 
Who sent him hence. 

CLERGYMAN. 

Madam, it is^my ofiice. 
Not self that speaks. That this young man had virtues. 
The very warmth of your expostulation 
Most eloquently proves : so much the more 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 89 

Bewail we what is lost ; so much more loudly 
Here in this presence from high heaven call down 
The pale and dreadful ministers of justice, 
To follow swift upon the murderer's track; 
The while upon his black, detested soul 
Be stings of scorpions ! 

EUDORA. 

O reverend sir. 
Let me beseech you, do not speak such words ! 
'Tis better known in heaven what wrong is done 
Than here on earth, where men see not alike ; 
High in that world a glorious mirror stands, 
Which tells true stories of all human things, 
And shows the every motive of each act ; 
'Tis better known above what justice is. 
For there the very scales of justice hang. 
Two radiant crystals trembling in the light, 
In which good angels weigh the faults of men 
Against the causes which produced those faults, 
Tracing the germs long generations down. 
Even to the moulding of the first wrong-doer ; 
So dear and delicate a thing to them 
Is justice. And yet hear ! I know not why 
I venture thus ; 'tis not my wish that leads me. 

CHARTERIS. 

Say on, speak on, my child ! 

EUDORA. 

In that bright world, 
However nicely they still think on justice, 



90 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT III. 

Even after all is weiglied, these blessed ones, 

Fearing to err on the ungentle side, 

Oft respite us with tears. But my good friends, 

Even here on earth what man can raise his hand 

And swear between these two the cause of quarrel, 

Who led it on, or which was most to blame ? 

What man can breathe reproach on cither's name ? 

And O, believe me, all, how deep soever 

Be our lament for this untimely death. 

He who has fled grieves more, a thousand times ! 

Perhaps, indeed, with more than mortal grief! 

This, reverend sir, must be the sad excuse 

For these poor words I could not help but say, 

Though knowing well how less becoming woman 

To speak is than to listen. 

CHARTEKIS. 

So thought Saint Paul, 
But he had not heard you. 

EUDORA. 

One only word ! 
I feel that I should ask the clergyman 
His pardon for my strangeness. 

CLERGYMAN. 

Most certainly ! 
'Tis yours a hundred times. I had not said 
Just what I have, but being led on to it 
By what I now perceive was baseless rumor. 
But let us have the truth I If any one else 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 91 

Here present knew these men, pray, let him speak. 
{To Charteris.) I think you knew them, sir. 



CHARTERIS. 

I knew them both : 
They were my friends, and friends themselves ; most 

friendly. 
What moved them to this most preposterous duel — 
For sure, it was no worse — more wonders me 
Than if a comet fell. Alas, poor Bryan ! 
He was a man to whom the whole world sang ; 
Yet sang not often in a minor key : 
His fine soul was a harj^, whose breathing strings 
Now pleasure seized, and now ambition swept, 
And now blest gratitude or friendship charmed ; 
One hour to noble anger shook ; another 
To beauty's hand most eloquently trembled ; 
And now they felt the gentle touch of pity. 
And now the grasp of love. I honored him : 
Some faults he had, yet these were set off, only, 
That showed his bright parts more commendable. 
So rare a being to be lost so soon ! 
O boy, couldst thou but speak, thy friend's good 

name 
Would be thy tongue's first care. Ah me, how sad 
When we shall bring him to his mother's eyes. 
In old Connecticut ! But let that pass ! 
And now, good Anderton, where canst thou be ? 
Under what pitying skies ? I honored Bryan, 
But Anderton I loved. He was a man 
Worthy the heavens under which he walked, 



92 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT HI. 

And if not yet resolved into the dust 

He has ennobled by his wearing it, 

If still unpillaged of the precious life 

Which made that dust a shrine, then am I sure 

The star of virtue is the star he follows, 

Though all detraction thunder. 

CLERGYMAN. 

Well do you speak ; 

No better sermon could your lost friend need, 

"No better eulogy the other. Therefore, 

The lateness of the hour admonishing, 

Our services here end. You who are charged, 

Now take and have conveyed with reverence 

This dust so precious to its kindred. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter Ricardo. 

RICARDO. 

Ah, go thy way, poor Bryan ! Much I dread 

My hand it was that gave thee to this fate : 

So that be true, then smil'st thou in thy shroud. 

Thinking when hell will very much avenge thee ! 

I'd rather a million pesos I had waited 

Before I probed the wound. It did not need 

That haste. Too late ! too late ! 

Ye guardians to this holy place, ye saints 

Who, in your effigies, now look on me, 

O, tell me what I am ! You do not frown ; 

At least you do not frown ; yet on, straight on, 

Sphinx-like you gaze, and leave me to the rout 

Of unresolved fears. Farewell ! farewell ! 

Dumb lips are yours : O, that my doubts were dumb 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 



Scene IV.— ^ street 

Enter Bendix and Poor Parlow; tJie latter bestriding a long 
stick with bells attached. 



poor parlow. 
This is the way he trots, and this is tne way he 
goes lame. How like my horse, old soldier-man ? 

BENDIX. 

A very good horse, indeed ! 

lA dirge heard. They listen. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Why don't they play quick? My horse goes 
faster. Boorooboloo ! Hey, sir; get up ! 

BENDIX. 

They never play fast when a dead man goes by. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Then why do the dead men go by ? 

BENDIX. 

Why, child, because they Cannot help it. 

POOR PARLOW. 

What makes a man a dead-man ? 

BENDIX. 

A long sword made Bryan a dead man. 



94 HOW MFCH I LOYED THEE ! [ACT IH. 

POOR PARLOW. 

No, no ! no, no ! Short dagger ! short dagger ! 

BENDIX. 

Ah well, boy, whatever you will ! 

POOR PARLOW. 

Now you shall see my horse run. 

[Exit. 

BENDIX. 

Lord mend thy wit, poor child ! But what did he 
mean by "short dagger"? Peradventure — ah yes, 
peradventure ! {Runs out.) Halloa ! ho, boy ! 

POOR PARLOW {entering). 
Here I come. This is a beast for you ! Stand, sir ! 

BENDIX. 

What did you mean by " short dagger," boy ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Ha, ha, ha ! Soldier-man and don't know short 
dagger ! 

BENDIX. 

O yes, child, I know what a short dagger is, but 
didn't you say short dagger made Bryan a dead 
man? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Get up, little horse ! The wind's a-running. 

BENDIX. 

Well ? 



IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 



95 
SCENE— " ■ 



POOR PARLOW. 

Do you want to see a wind-race? 

BENDIX. 

Listen, boy ! They say you were there on the 
night Bryan was killed. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Ah ! that was the music-night ! 

BENDIX. 

Yes, the music-night. 

POOR PARLOW. 

Did he love music ? I never saw so still a man 
before. 

BENDIX. 

Was he still when you first saw him ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Kot at all. Do you know the long-cloak man ? 

BENDIX. 

Yes — you saw him there that night ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Indeed, I did. 

BENDIX. 

What was in his hand? 



96 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT IH. 



POOR PARLOW. 



Ha, ha ! And you saw his hand, too ? You saw 
the short dagger ? Ha, ha ! 

BENDIX. 

Now, listen, boy ! Did the long-cloak man touch 
the still man with the short dagger ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

O yes, once he did; and the man cried, " Oh ! oh ! 
help ! help ! O you vile wretch !" but after that he 
was very still. 

BENDIX. 

Yes? yes? he did? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Don't scare me ! 

BENDIX. 

And then was very still ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Your eyes are like fire. He was still as a stone. 

[Runs away. 

BENDIX. 

O boy, you have medicined my life ! Courage, 
come back ! Liberty, I can shake thy hand again ! 
My prison's burst and I am out, naked, free as air. 
O, to be a slave to others' knowledge, to be a top for 
any man to spin, is to be worse than damned ! Now 
have I this Ricardo's head in a vice ; and O Satan, 



SCENE v.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 97 

but I'll wrench it ! I'll make it so hot, he shall wish 
to cool his feet on coals. To his gaping grave I'll 
harry him. But slow ! let me go slow ! let me creep 
to it, and when his time comes, jump on him ! 

{Exit. 



Scene V. — Before a country-house. Night. 
Enter York and Anderton. 

ANDERTON. 

Well then, good York, since I must change my 

,name, 

Call me by one I've earned ! What do you say 

To Addlepate ? 

[Dogs bark. 

YORK. 

So, so : we've roused the dogs 
Already. Mark you, now ! ( Whistles.) You see, 

my friend. 
These puppies love old York and stop their mouths. 

[J. window thrown up. 

PEYTON {at window). 
One moment, York ! {Disappears.) 

YORK. 

And now, before he comes, 
What say you to the name of " Waterbrain" ? 



98 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT III. 

ANDERTON. 

I'm worthy of none better. 

YORK. 

Think you then, 
I'd pour you out a name as weak as that ? 

Enter Peyton with colored Boy, 

PEYTON. 

York, it is time that you were here again : 

I feared me much the Yankees had possessed you. 

YORK. 

I was, indeed, possessed, but not by them, 
Unless the watery Undines be their name; 
By all that's fiery, Peyton, I have had 
Not so much life upon my throat this week 
As one poor glass. 

PEYTON. 

Run, boy, and tell the butler 
To bring some of the strongest. 

YORK. 

This, Peyton, is my good friend Lauriston. 

PEYTON. 

Your friend is welcome. Pardon my left hand ; 
For this, you see, is tender, puffed and stuffed 
With gout. 



SCENE v.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 99 

ANDERTON. 

Take not my hand, sir, till you learn 
What man I am ! My outside is a lie : 
This gray is not my color : — more than that, 
Not two days past this hand disgraced itself 
Shedding the sacred blood of one I loved. 

A 

YORK. 

The truth is, Peyton, he's a gallant fellow 

Too honest to deny his Union blue, 

Too generous with the friend who challenged him. 

PEYTON, 

Your voice commends you, sir : I ask no more. 
And who I am, no doubt York has informed you. 
So you be willing, then, to give your hand — 

ANDERTON. 

And with it, sir, my name : 'tis Anderton. 

PEYTON. 

Thank you. But pardon me, you seem quite worn 

With travel. 

Enter Boy. 

ANDERTON. 

Yes, and even more with sorrow. 

PEYTON. 

Camp in this chair ; it is an easy one ; 

Set down the glasses, Jim ; where's Africaine ? 

tCFC 



100 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT HI. 

Go in, boy : let the wench get supper ! 
Now, sirs, wait not for compliments : it's time 
The glasses made us music. 

YOKK. 

By your leave, then, 

I'll start the tune. 

[Pours and drinks, 

PEYTON. 

Play you the basso part ! 
Drink deep ! As for myself, I cannot play : 
My hand you see's my witness. 

YORK. 

And that's a good one, 
For in that hand I hear the jolly tongues 
Of all your ancestors. Come, Anderton, 
Play you, at least, one part. 

ANDERTON. 

'Twill be a poor one ; 
If sleep were in your glass, I'd ask no better. 

YORK. 

Peyton, you see yon dipper in the heavens, 
Millions of leagues, they say, from top to bottom : 
I would I were a god ; and that same dipper 
Ran to the brim with something of this kind, 
And I were tall enough to dip my nose in it ! 



SCENE v.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 101 

PEYTON. 

Well, well, that's a brave wish ; and now come in ! 
My cellars are by no means dry, you know : 
But see, your friend's asleep ! 

YORK. 

So, so, poor fellow ! 
I tell you, Peyton, he's a royal soul. 
But grief and weariness may kill a king. 
This chair has wheels : I'll draw him to the house. 

PEYTON. 

And there, poor man, give him an eider-bed ; 
And lay him softly, so he need not wake 
Till sleep shall give him to himself again. 

[^Exeunt. 



102 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [acT IV. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — An apartment. Ricardo propped on pillows in an 
easy-chair. 

mCARDO. 

Still must I hear, forever hear those tones ? 

"Oh! oh! help! help !" he cried. "O, you vile 

wretch !" 
Nowhere I go but this curst theme goes with me : 
No music strikes my ear but these wild notes 
Dance to the tune like maniacs. O God ! 
The very clocks take up the horrid burden, 
The innocent birds repeat it. Would I might pray ! 
But ah, could any prayer of mine be heard ? 
No, not in Hades '! Hark ! what noise is that ? 
O foolish nerves, why will you tremble so ? 
In every paper I can see a warrant, 
In every bush an officer. But O, 
Thank Heaven, thus far, at least, I'm safe ! Safe : ay. 
But what of that ? What one thing have I gained 
But to be stretched forever on this rack. 
Displumed and all unstarred ? What have I done ? 
My hopes I have exchanged for fears; my thoughts 
Bartered for apprehensions ; my bed of down 
Have made a couch of thorns. Well, well, faint 

heart. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 103 

Some hope lies in hereafter. It niay be 
The blade of Anderton showed him to sleep 
And not my dagger. It is possible. 

Enter Bendix. 
So, then, you've come. 

BENDIX. 

Yes, I have come at last. 



The doctor almost hinted I should die : 
I have a little property in Spain, 
Else I might go more easy. 

BENDIX. 

And why so ? 

RICARDO. 

I hate to leave my only friend behind me. 

BENDIX. 

Ah, think you then I am your only friend ? 

mCARDO. 

Friend ? fiddlestick ! Friendship and egg-shells, cat ! 

It is my property I mean, not you : 

Mine for my life, but then some scurvy rascal's 

Who knows not me. O, by the Lord, old man, 

Had I this thing in pesos, all my own, 

I'd will to you a trifle ! 

BENDIX. 

And no more ? 



104 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IV. 

RICARDO. 

No more ; and that much on condition, only, 
Two honest fools would go along with you, 
Scale old Vesuvius, and swear they saw 
The balance of my fortune stowed therein 
Deeper than Erebus. 

BENDIX. 

That's all you love me ? 

RICARDO. 

That's more than all. 

BENDIX. 

If you have means, good sir, 
Why not dispose them better ? 

RICARDO. 

So I will. 
Find me a rake whose running wheels to hell 
My funds will spin. 

BENDIX. 

What then? 

RICARDO. 

Why, he shall be 
My sole residuary legatee. 

BENDIX. 

And by your leave and favor, I am he. 

RICARDO. 

Most delicate, most rare old cormorant, 
I hope to see you hanged before I go ! 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 105 



Most excellent Ricardo, till this hour 

I've borne your sneers and gibes like any dog, 

But now look to it that I bite you not ! 

RICARDO. 

How dare you wag your dirty tongue at me ? 

BENDIX. 

By this I dare : — Bryan still walks the earth. 

RICARDO. 

What foolish lie is that ? But I could wish 
'Twere true. 

BENDIX. 

Ah yes, most excdlent Ricardo ! 
And since you mean the breathing, living Bryan, 
The gallant and the very noble form 
Beloved of women and admired of men, 
Whose precious drops your thirsty steel drank up — 

RICARDO. 

Outrageous, lying traitor, what will you now ? 



Since him you mean, well may you wish it true ! 
It is not Bryan, but his ghost that walks. 
And at your back he stands, dressed as he was 
That night. 

[Ricardo, terrified, looks behind. 



106 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IV. 

RICARDO. 

Fool ! dog insane ! Why come you here 
To sow my mind with horrors ? I doubt not 
Your guilty soul can see more ghosts than one : 
Your monstrous crimes have turned your sickly 

brain ; 
But, by the Cross, if any law is here, 
You'll take your spectres to another market ! 

BENDIX. 

And something more substantial bring to yours, — 
The robust evidence of flesh and blood. 
You little dreamed that from the arbor, there. 
Sharp eyes looked out when that black deed was 
done. 

RICAKDO. 

When Anderton — 

BENDIX. 

When you — 

RICARDO. 

When Anderton — 

BENDIX. 

When you, I swear, and I will thunder it : — 
When you, Ricardo, cruel as a fiendj 
Sent Bryan into darkness. 

mCARDO. 

Who dares unloose this lie? 

BENDIX. 

No matter who ! 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 107 

RICARDO. 

O God, were I but well, could I but stand 
Strong as a child, I'd cut it from your throat ! 

[Draioing Ids dagger, he totters toward Bendix, and, in 
' the act of striking, falls as if dead. 

BENDIX 

Now might I end him, and the world should say 
He did it ; but maybe the inky stream 
Is crossed already ; yet, if not, this proves 
It will be soon. I will retain my purpose : 
The snake shall turn his tooth upon himself. 

[Exit. 
Re-enter Bendix leading Poor Pahlow. 

BENDIX. 

So, SO, boy ! Do you see this man ? 

poor parlow. 
That's the long-cloak man. Is he still, too ? 

BENDIX. 

Ha, ha, boy ; perhaps he is ! 

POOR PARLOW. 

Where's the short dagger ? 

BENDIX. 

Does that look like it, boy ? (Showing dagger,) 



108 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IV. 



POOR PARLOW. 



Yes, but lie drove tlie short dagger with his heel, 
this way, into the ground I 



Ha, ha! Did he? This way, boy! The long- 
garden ! 
\_Exeuiit. 



cloak man has ears. Come with me to the garden ! 



Enter two Servants. 

FIRST SERVANT, 

Good gracious ! Here's the Baron flat on his face ! 

SECOND SERVANT. 

Dead is he ? Feel his pulse ! No, he still 
breathes ! It is a fit. Let's put him on his bed ; 
then go for doctors ! Undo his neckerchief ! 
There! Now lift, lift, I say! {They place him 
on the heel.) Do you stay here, while I run for the 
doctor. 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Perhaps he's dead. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

Suppose he is ? 

FIRST SERVANT. 

I mean — perhaps I'd better go. Somehow yon 
know, I don't exactly like this. I'm not afraid, you 
understand, but possibly it might look better if I 
went. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 109 



SECOND SERVANT. 

What a ridiculous fool you are ! 

FIRST SERVANT. 



[Exit. 



O well, then, go along : I'll stay ! (Approaches 
RicARDO.) Gad, I don't like this! Halloa! {Goes 
nearer.) Halloa ! Good gracious, I'll not stay here ! 

[Runs out. 

RTCARDO {unconsdonsly). 

Not I ! O no, not I ! Bendix it was ! 

Let go my throat ! Bryan ! Bryan ! hands off ! 

( Waking and sjyringiiig vp.) Ha ! Gone ? O damned 

dreams, night after night ! 
Thump, coward, thump ! Who says I have no heart ? 
Dreams, you will kill me ! I cannot wink without 

you ! 
Now 'tis a wolf with Bendix' treacherous grin, 
Now Bryan's ashy face, his horrid stare, 
And his ten fingers dripping : and that other — 
No matter what — but rather would I see 
A thousand Bryans ! Yet how is this ? Where am I ? 
And where that Bendix ? Is it possible 
I dreamed all this ? Ah no, it was no dream ! 
The precious villain dares to threaten me. 
But give me strength once more ! This cunning 

doctor 
Has dared to whisper I shall not live long ; 
I'll show him. 

Enter Charterts. 
So, then, you think me dangerous ? 



110 HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE ! [ACT IV. 

CHARTERIS. 

In danger, certainly, as all men are, 
And something more than most. 

RICARDO. 

Do I not eat 
And drink and walk and sleep as others do ? 

CHARTERIS. 

I hope so. 

RICARDO. 

How then ? 

CHARTERIS. 

It is not every ailment 
That spurns at food and drink, or even sleep : 
These things may be companions to disease. 

RICARDO. 

Pshaw ! Talk that way to monkeys and to girls. 
Things of weak brain ! 'Tis true all men must die, 
And all be saved or lost, I with the rest ; 
But not before this will of mine's in dotage. 

CHARTERIS. 

You'll have no medicine, then, and no advice ? 

RICARDO. 

Why yes, I will have both : but, sir, for God's sake, 
Don't torture me with any thoughts of death ! 

CHARTERIS, 

And yet, to some, death is a wished-for angel. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE I 111 

RICAKDO. 

Faugh ! To me it is damnation. 

CHABTERIS. 

Well, 
"We all have notions ; but no more of this ! 
And I must ask you to forego this theme, — - 
Yes, and all others that excite the brain, 
Or you will run great risk. 

KICAKDO. 

What did I tell you? 
Still do you blow my cerements in my face ? 
Caramha! While you talk, this firm-closed earth 
Seems to my mind a hollow graveyard yawning : 
I hate your gallipots and all your tribe. 
It w^as not sin, it was the devilish doctors 
Brought death into the world. 

CHARTERIS. 

Good-evening, sir. 

{Exit. 

RICARDO. 

And. you, too, gone ! All melts ; all is discandied ; 
I am a sinking ship ; my rats fly from me. 
But this is not the worst : that is to come. 
O, could I close on Bendix ! Ah, there was 
A time I might have made him sing ; but now 
I am a dwarf, my spear a feeble rush ; 
While he, gigantic, stalks along the world. 
Armed with my ruin. O thou bastard fortune 1 



112 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IV. 

Could I but buy him off ! I cannot kill him : 
That way too far, already ! But I can fly : — 
No, that would be confession ! O my brain ! 
'Tis in a whirl of everything and nothing. 
" Sharp eyes looked out when that black deed was 

done"— 
Those were his words. Whose eyes ? Where does 

he get 
His evidence ? It is a lie cooked up : 
He has no jot of proof. It's possible 
The idiot saw, but what is his tongue worth ? 
Ha, ha ! not lost ! not lost ! 



Scene II. — Washington. A 2mvaie icalk bordered by a garden^ 
wall. 



Enter York. 

What a curse is business ! What a double curse 
when your friends' needs depend on it ! Were this 
my matter I am on, how soon would I roll me into 
yonder beer-shop ! Hang business ! Would I might 
rather drown it ! How like a planet I am : business 
my frigid zone, abstinence my temperate, and raging 
thirst my torrid ! I'm the globe itself, and yonder 
beer-shop is my sun. Centripetal force draws me to 
it, centrifugal force pulls me away. Here come two 
jolly tars to circumnavigate me. Sail ho ! 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 113 

Enter Ross and Ricardo. 

RICAHDO. 

Let me lean upon you ! I ought to be in my bed, 
and I will thank you to see me home. 

ROSS. 

You do look pale. 

YORK. 

Poor mariner ! not sick, I trust ! 

RICARDO. 

Something quite like. I've come to tell you there's 
no hope, absolutely no hope, of seeing the lady. It 
must be insisted on, besides, that our dear friend re- 
main alone, where he is ; and for fear he will not, let 
me beg you to return to him at once ! 

YORK. 

This news will go near to break his heart ; but if 
it's best he stay longer, even now I'll bid you fare- 
well. Gentlemen, I must revolve. 



[Exit York. 



RICARDO. 

Good-day, sir, and a safe journey ! 

ROSS. 

As to Bendix, then— 

RICARDO. 

I tell you it has not come time to cast him. We 



114 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT 3T„ 

must have patience. Hold ray arm firmly : I find 
myself unsteady. 

\_Exeunt. 

Enter Eudora, Blanche, and Lucinda. 

BLANCHE. 

Why, surely, that is Mr. Ricardo yonder. 

EUDORA. 

Pray, do not let him hear ! 'Tis almost night, 
Lucinda ; and if those fine herbs of yours 
Grow in this garden, and are worth the pains, 
Now is the time to gather them. 

LUCINDA. 

No, child ; 
We must await the moonrise ; and besides, 
It needs no small amount of ceremony 
To pull these leaves just as they should be pulled. 
I hope there'll be no clouds upon the moon. 

BLANCHE. 

As if the moon put virtue in the plant I 

EUDORA. 

But so these herbs will make me sleep again, 
I'll not be dainty : I will ask no questions. 

BLANCHE. 

Small hope I have in them. I never knew 
One single soporific half so potent 
As mere society ; but sad to say, 
Small-talk's a medicine you do not relish I 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE ! 115 

EUDORA. 

Else, maybe, I had not so gladly shunned, 
Just now, your friend Ricardo, though, indeed, 
He's bragged a perfect wit. 

BLANCHE. 

Ah, very bright ! 

LUCINDA. 

A proper man as ever put on shoes ; 
But he's not half as gay as he was once. 

EUDORA. 

Lamenting his good friends, no doubt. 
Enter Charteris. 

CnARTERIS. 

I'm glad 
You're walking. Right ! quite right ! One way it is 
To dreamland. 

EUDORA. 

It used to be, but is it now ? 
Ah, doctor, I have sought a hundred roads 
To that far country. 

CHARTERIS. 

My dear child, do not 
Give up ! When hope's lost, all's lost. So you like, 
I'll walk along with you. 

BLANCHE. 

Most gladly, doctor. 

\^Exeunt. 



116 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IV. 

Scene III. — A room in Peyton's house. 
Enter Anderton- 

ANDERTON. 

Still may I hope, for but an hour ago 

The clouds ranged in black armies, till no more 

"Was any smile of heaven upon the earth, 

And beauty dreamed of sorrow : but, even then, 

The Sun-god bounded forth full-armed, elate, 

Majestical, with all his banners flying. 

So, groping in deep night, through fearful seas, 

IJpon a trice, the noble tract of ocean 

Blazes afar with phosphorescent flame, 

Distinguishing the ship and making glad 

The mariner. 

Enter York. 

York, York ! most welcome York ! 
Dear friend, you've risked your very life for me ! 
And she — my lady — is her message " Come !" ? 
And what her health ? But why do you not speak ? 
You saw Ricardo ? 

YORK. 

Yes, and tried to see 
The lady, but the lady could not be seen. 

ANDERTON. 

In all the world you've missed the fairest sight. 
O, why did you not see her ? Why not hear 



SCENE III.] now MUCH I LOYED THEE ! 117 

That voice ? Have I not told yon, time after time, 
When she is gone, the world* can have no more ? 
Her beauty sums all graces in the word : 
She's purer than a dove ; her eyes more tender 
Than young gazelles' ; her motion more becoming 
Than any swan puts on ; her hair the gift 
Of no one but Hyperion to the earth ; 
Her mind like fire upon Olympus burning. 
But is she well ? 

YORK. 

Not well, indeed, nor ill : 
So says, at least, your friend : but since that night — 
God knows I grieve to tell you — will not hear 
The syllables of your name. 

ANDEKTON. 

Not hear my name ? 
No, York, some villain has dared wound my name 
In her sweet presence and been silenced for it ; 
Your slander comes of that. Did I not tell you 
To put no faith in any but the doctor — 
Unless Ricardo ? 

TOEK. ■ 

I did not see the doctor ; — 
Only Ricardo ; and 'twas from him I had it. 

ANDERTON. 

O, this infernal maze ! He told her all ; 
And knowing all, she knows me innocent. 



118 HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE ! [ACT IV. 

• YORK. 

He told her, but she would not credit him : 

That very night the story was abroad 

How, in a raging storm of jealousy, 

You had made off with Bryan ; 

And that same lie was floated through the land. 

On all the seas of ink. 

ANDERTON. 

This is far worse. 
This is far worse than any worst I dreamed. 
But where then was Ricardo ? Where was he ? 

YORK. 

Struggling to breast this roar ; and that so fiercely, 
His friendship was unveiled ; and what he did, 
Not only undid, but himself marked out 
For an accomplice. So, indeed, he told me. 

ANDERTON. 

Poor fellow ! Heavens, York, what a crash of evils 
Comes thundering in the train of one mistake ! 
Look at me ! Where, in what curst part of me. 
Am I this fool — head, heart, or pineal gland ? 
Or foul knot of my nerves ? or did some fiend 
Ply me from hell to take that horrid gage ? 
My duty is to pray to have no friends ; 
Nor any love ; or better still, to fly 
Out of the world, where I can no more bring 
On those most precious the most bitter sorrow. 
York, be no more my friend, but hate me rather ! 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 119 

Bosom the viper first ! love wolves and bears, 

Death is whose worst embrace ! What do you say ? 

Me, say' you, they have made a murderer, 

And me not only, but Ricardo too ? 

Him I can save ; so then, here is farewell ! 

My fate and I must meet in Washington. 

Would that I loved you less ! 

YORK. 

Now, now, cheer up ! 
Before it's made, this journey must be talked. 
And talked, too, over certain pints of wine. 
What most men do in haste is most ill done, 
And they who walk may distance,them who run. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter Jim and Africaine. 

JIM. 

Well, Affy, I jess hear Mass York say he's gwine 
away. I'd like to be gwine wid him. 

AFRICAINE. 

He's nuffin but a red-nose brandy-jug, anyhow. 
Don't leave me, Jim ! 

JIM. 

I likes Mass York. 

AFRICAINE. 

An' sposin' you's a demijohn, he'd like you too. 

JIM. 

Dere's only one man in de whole blessed world I 



120 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT IV. 

likes, and dat's Mass York. He fights on de udder 
side, he do ; and I's a-gwine wid him, I tell^yer. 

AFRICAINE. 

You'll be shot. 

JIM. 

I's not gwine in dat capacity. 

AFRICAINE. 

You'll be hung. 

JIM. 

I's not gwine in dat capacity, needer. 

AFRICAINE. 

How den is you gwine ? 

JIM. 

I's gwine as Jim. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Peyton and Anderton. 

PEYTON. 

No, Anderton, not fifty thousand cannon 
Should roar that notion out of my old head ;. 
For I was born to it ; and I'll die by it : 
My best allegiance to my State is due : 
You think not so ; and these two propositions 
Now stuff the air with smoke, groans, fire and thun- 
der : 
And so, in one sense, we are enemies, 
But in a better we are noblest friends. 
Throughout this war, till now, my house has been 



SCENE III. J HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 121 

The unchallenged refuge of poor luckless devils, 

On either side. This may not last ; and therefore, 

To save you from a risk of sudden search. 

Here by the mantel is a secret spring : 

Press with your finger, thus : out flies this panel ; 

Behind it you will find quite room enough. 

Sufficient light, good breathing, wine and water : 

Once in, remain there till I call your name ; 

Push, then, the panel, and you're out again. 

Now, for a while, I leave you ; and meantime, 

Discover to yourself this hiding-place. 

ANDERTON. 

Peyton, I think some grief is in your heart ; 
Say what it is, and have my sympathy ! 

PEYTON. 

I have been much disturbed ; and by to-morrow 
May let you know it ; but just now must leave you. 

[Exit. 

ANDERTON. 

Not kinder to me was my own good father ! — 
The spring he tells me of is here, I think. 

[At Ms touch a panel opens and discovers a picture-frame. 

What's this — a picture ? I have blundered, then ; 
Some other spring commands the hiding-place. 
A picture ? No, perhaps 'tis but a frame ; 
And what is in it, merely tapestry. 
Cobwebs, your pardon ; I must brush you off ! 

[Tapestry falls, discovering a picture. 



122 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT IV. 

Eudora ! O perfection of Eudora ! 

Even as you thrilled me on the day we met ! 

O, speak to me ! say only that, my dove, 

Which even now is trembling on your lips ! 

How sweet ! By Heaven, he is a liar who tells me 

That you no longer love me ! Saint of my life, 

Could I believe this false, detested story 

I'd die here on my knees ! O dearest angel, 

Enter Peyton. 

If but your shadow can so still my heart, 
How more the radiance of your loving self ! 

{^Sees Peyton. 

So soon, my friend, to find so bold a sinner 
(Hismg) Quite prostrate, here, petitioning for grace ! 

PEYTON. 

To find, indeed, so furious a lover 
Gone mad upon a pair of painted eyes ! 

anderton. 

Yes, it is true ; for I would not deceive you. 

Even if I could : — I know not how this picture 

Came here ; nor when ; nor if this lovely face 

May be to you related ; but I know 

So much of beauty and so much of goodness 

Never before to any limner sat 

Since Eden's lakes mirrored the grace of Eve. 

PEYTON. 

That may you safely swear. O Anderton, 
If you but knew the child ! 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 123 

ANDERTON. 

If I did not, 
Then had you never met the most unhappy 
And the most happy man of all men born. 

PEYTON. 

Her name — 

ANDERTON. 

It is Eudora. , 

PEYTON. 

She is my niece. 

ANDERTON. 

Thank God, she is my love. 

PEYTON. 

Why, Andcrton, 
I had not dreamed of this ; but I have wished it : 
She is my daughter, too, by dear adoption ; 
And by that token you shall be my son. 
My son ? O friend, if you would have it so. 
Then with all speed get you to Washington 
This very morning I received a letter 
Of my child's illness. 

ANDERTON. 

Do not speak of danger , 

PEYTON. 

I fear it much. They say she does not sleep, 
Or, if she sleeps, it is for moments only. 



124 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [acT IV. 



ANDERTON. 



That is most grave ; what such a state may mean, 
Something I know ; and she — so delicate, 
So fine of brain — Peyton, I dread the worst : 
Which horse ? I go at once. 



PEYTON. 



But arm yourself : 
Wear that you now have on ; it will betray 
To neither North nor South. Sleep by the sun. 
Ride by the stars ! I, too, shall go ; and nothing 
But stronger will than mine shall keep me back. 

[^Exeunt. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 125 



ACT V. 

Scene I. — An anteroom in the house of Madam Blanche. 
Enter Charteris, Blanche, and Lucinda. 

BLANCHE. 

I do not understand. 

CHARTERIS. 

Imagine, then, 
This brain of ours to be a kind of mill, 
And sleep to be the quiet artisan 
Who n^ends the gear : well, then, while every wheel 
Of this imaginary mill's in motion, 
The quiet artisan — sleep, as I said. 
Can by no means get at the gear to mend it. 

BLANCHE. 

But, doctor, she still sleeps ; Eudora sleeps 

At intervals ; or so I have believed : 

For Heaven's sake, do not say that she must die ! 

CHARTERIS. 

Your pardon, madam, but these words of yours 
If she should hear, might fill her with foreboding ! 
Talk not of death until the body-guard 
Of therapeutics fail ! Meantime, suppose 
We hear that Anderton yet lives. 



126 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

BLANCHE. 

If SO, 



What then? 



CHARTERIS. 



It is not easy to be clear : 
The love they bore each other was that kind 
Which knows and dreams of nothing but its object. 
Sound by that love the depth of her despair, 
Thinking him dead, then tell me if the joy 
To learn his living eyes yet long for her. 
Might not the rather feed the perilous fire 
Than flatter it away. 



BLANCHE. 

My hope would be 
The sovereignty of bliss might cure despair. 

CHARTERIS. 

It is not that we have to remedy ; 

It is the state brought on by it ; the fear of food. 

The morbid action, the morbific waste ; 

Whereby, at last, the all-directing brain 

Has been quite lost even to his own control ; 

Resembling well enough a noble horse, 

The leader of his herd, whom some alarm 

Has whirled across the plain with all his comrades. 

Till, on a sudden, full before his eyes, 

A vast gulf yawns ; and nothing now stands worth 

But such a leap as desperation only 

Dare dream of. {Singing heaixl.) Listen ! 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 127 

EUDORA {singing loithout). 

They knew that she would sleep no more 

Save in the valley lone; 
And so all night they carried her, 

And she did make no moan. 

Still wondering how so fair a maid 

Might think herself to blame, 
These four and they who followed them 

Into the valley came — 

CHARTERIS. 

It's too much like her fortune : it comes home. 



EUDORA {singing witliout). 

O heaven, he was a glorious youth!" 

Tlie gentle maid then said ; 
And when they would have answered her, 

Lo, the sweet thing was dead! 



BLANCHE. 

I fear this melancholy grows upon her. 

CHARTERIS. 

God help the child ! 

EUDORA {singing without). 

And now where blooms the earliest rose, 

How silently she lies; 
Dear girl who in the valley sleeps. 

And wakes in paradise ! 



128 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

LUCINDA. 

If that verse be the last, it has at least 

A Christian ending. But there's one she sings, 

The story of a maid in Tripoli, 

Who fairly died with loving. 

CHARTERIS. 

Has it been 
Her practice to sing songs of this complexion ? 

BLANCHE. 

Only of late ; and yet, as I remember, 
She did so in her childhood. 

CnARTERIS. 

I like not that : 
But let TQC ask you to retire a while. 
And on your way inform the poor, sweet girl 
Her doctor would be glad to speak with her. 

BLANCHE. 

I've thought if she might have her bed set up 
Where she could hear the organ still repeating. 
Hour after hour, some delicate harmony. 
It would be soothing to her ; and so, I pray you, 
Do not oppose it ! 

CHARTERIS. 

No, I will not. 

[Exeunt Blanche and Lucinda. 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 129 

• Enter Eudora. 

You are most welcome, child : this very moment 

I sent for y.ou. I do not like to hear 

These cloud-compelling songs you sing, Eudora. 



EUDORA. 

I was Eudora, once ; what am I now ? 
Heaven knows what I am now. 

CHARTERIS. 

But should it prove 
Dear Anderton yet lives ; would you not be 
Yourself again ? 

EUDORA. 

O, look me in the face ! 
Tell me if you believe it possible 
Our Anderton is not where spirits are ! 

CHARTERIS. 

No, child, I think he stays this side the curtain. 
Some day to comfort us. 

EUDORA. 

O, should it be, 
What happiness ! 

CHARTERIS. 

And yet I almost fear 
To tell you that I almost know he lives. 



EUDORA. 



Ah, that " almost" ! 



130 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

CHAKTERIS. 

But be prepared for it : 
Think you may see him; think so for my sake, 
For in the train of that sweet thought may come 
Sweet sleep ! 

EUDORA. 

I'll try to think so, doctor. 

[Exit. 

CHARTERIS. 

Poor child ! Scarce could she speak to me for tears ; 

But her lips' quivering and her eyes revealed 

The gratitude in her celestial heart. 

It is the time fixed for the consultation : 

I have no faith in it ; nature is too shy 

Of us deep fellows. The two oldest fools 

In the world are medicine and pathology. 

[Exit. 
Enter Anderton. 

ANDERTON. 

The silence of a shroud is in this house. 

EUDORA (singing witliout). 

Sighing, still sighing 

Upon the desert shore 1 
He will come no more 

Whose nest is in the tree; 
My bird is flying, flying 

Away from me. 

ANDERTON. 

Her own dear voice ! But ah, what imports that I 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 131 

EUDORA {singing without). 
He will come no more — 

Enter Eudora. 

ANDERTON. 

At last ! at last ! 

EUDORA. 

Why, doctor, I thought you gone, 
And yet — 

ANDERTON. 

Doctor I'm none ; but let me be 
Better than doctor ! 

EUDORA. 

Anderton ! 

ANDERTON {embracing her). 

The gods 
Be thanked, I am no other ! Blessedness, 
O thou sweet blessedness, thus cling to me 
Forever ! 

EUDORA. 

Where are we ? 

ANDERTON. 

We are in heaven. 

EUDORA. 

When did we come ? how did we come ? And yet 
Ko matter, now, since we are here. Ah me, 



132 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

How base that earth which we have left ! Why, 

dearest, 
They told us, there, that you had killed some one ! 

ANDERTON. 

O God, and has it come to this ! (Aside.) 

EUDORA. 

Why, no, 
My darling, can it be that we should have 
A room so like my aunt's, here, up in heaven ? — 
And yet this ivy and these orange-flowers — 
Too sweet they are for earth ; is it not so ? 
And what is yonder, darling ? Is it not 
The amaranth, the imperishable flower ? 

ANDERTON. 

Angels be over us ! (aside.) But your good aunt, 
Your good, kind aunt, is she not here ? 

EUDORA. 

She may be — 

yes, for there she comes ! 

ANDERTON. 

Pray, sit you down, 
Your strength is failing. (Assists her.) 

EUDORA. 

Thank you ! Without your help, 

1 should have fallen. These ills of earth, I wonder 
They do not leave us. 



SCENE I,] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 133 

Enter Blanche. 

BLANCHE. 

Can I believe my sight ? 

ANDEKTON. 

I may have changed ; but I am Anderton. 

BLANCHE. 

The doctor has long looked for you. 

EUDORA. 

The doctor ! 
And has he also quit that naughty world ? 

ANDERTON. 

{Aside.) O madam, hear you this? But let me 

whisper ! 
Knew you her mind was touched ? 

BLANCHE. 

I do not think it : 
But I have feared for her. 

ANDERTON. 

It is too true. 
Her brain's all wildered ; and she thinks herself 
In heaven. 

BLANCHE. 

Is it possible ? So much unstrung ! 
To-night the doctors will consult ; meantime, 
It may be well to humor this conceit : 
Were all the world thus rapt, 'twere heaven indeed ; 
Pity they are not. 



134 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT V. 

ANDERTON. 

So then, speak to her ! 

BLANCHE. 

Eudora, the first thing to do in heaven 
Is to find peace and rest. Yoiir Anderton 
Is wearier perhaps than even we ; 
And I have just commended him to sleep : 
Our duty, therefore, is to say, " Good-night !" 
We, too, must sleep ; arid they have here a music 
So exquisite, it steals through all the senses, 
Like a soft balm ; and Anderton shall go 
Where he can hear it ; and so must you and I. 
To-morrow, darling, we shall all be rested : 
Come, dear, lean upon me, for I must lead you. 

EUDORA, 

I could not think to leave my Anderton 

So soon, though only for a little while. 

But that in Heaven, here, we have endless time 

Before us. Yet, indeed, how very strange 

What is around us looks almost the same 

As our own home ! But does not this agree 

With Swedenborg's relation ? 

BLANCHE. 

Yery like ! 

EUDORA. 

And I am glad, most glad to find it so ; * 
For nothing can be dearer than our home. 
However homely. To-morrow, said you not, 
We shall be rested ? Ah, how sweet it is 



SCENE I.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 135 

That we can still* be talking of "to-morrow" ! 

Good-night, dear love ! When we were on the earth, 

" Good-nights" were sadder, for the " good-nights" 

there 

Were not so certain followed by " good-morrows." 

Good-night ! 

[Eceunt Blakche and Eudoka. 

ANDERTON. 

Good-night ! — O God, have I caused this ! 
No, no : it was not I, it was the fool 
Within me struck the blow ; — thus to be pitied 
Much more than blamed ! And O, ye Powers above, 
Will ye not pity me ? Was it not you 
That sowed in me this weakness to say " yes," 
This fatal complaisance to do the thing 
I hated, and in one most damned hour 
Unprop and tumble on my wretched head 
The skies that smiled on me ? O then, have pity ! 
Not for myself I ask, but only her : — 
Save her ! Do simply that, and as for me, 
Let fall what ruin 'may ! 
O Thou, the architect of that rare form 
Templing her immortality ; O Thou, 
Who touched her eyes with light from paradise, 
And on that lovely as a seraph's brow. 
Floated her glorious curls — Save her, O God ! 
O, let her journey with sweet life along 
Down through some golden vista of old age. 
That all the world may know her as she is, 
And thank Thee for her in the years to come ! 
O, save her ! 



136 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 



Scene II. — An apartment. After midnight. 
Enter Ricardo. , 

RICARDO. 

My health, my spirits, and my best of hopes 
To make this marriage are come back together : 
For Bendix, I will have his regiment 
Sent where the bullets fly, — and let me pray 
One slug, at least, may have engraved upon it 
His cursed name ! There is a way to this. 

[Kiiocking heard. 
Who can that be ? All's in my throat again. 
Out, light ! No, no, they'd notice that ! What then ? 
Where is that holy book ? for I'll be reading : — 
So, so : ah, what a pious, pious man ! ( Opens it.) 
" Thou shalt not" — Pest ! Must everything in- 
form me 
Just what I am? (Throws down the book. More 
knocking.) 

O sharper than sharp knives, 
Those knocks ! Who's there ? 

PEPS (without). 

I, sir ! 

RICARDO. 

That sounds like Peps. 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 137 

Enter Peps. 

PEPS. 

Your title I forget, sir. Pardon me ! 
That scoundrel has come back. 

. BICAKDO. 

What do you mean ? 

PEPS. 

'Tis Anderton I mean. 

mCAKDO. 

Come back ! Good Heavens ! 
How know you that ? 

PEPS. 

He's now with Madam Blanche. 

mCAKDO. 

What will you do ? 

PEPS. 

Lord knows — 

KICARDO. 

Ah, man, have courage ! 
Here is aguardiente ; what you call 
Spirit, my worthy Peps. Here, sir, is courage ; 
Take it along with you ! 

[Peps taken the bottle and exit. Noise loithout. 

Enter York dragging Peps hy the collar. 

YORK. 

Good thief ! sweet thief ! O, lovely thief ! Here's 
the rascal that would have robbed you, sir. Half 



138 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

the bottle already gone ! A veritable brandy-lifter ! 
The highest kind of larceny ; for to sneak away with 
your brandy is to carry off the very fortress of the 
soul ! 

RICARDO. 

Ah well, 'tis a disease he has ! ' Let him go ! 

YORK. 

Go, miscreant, but leave the brandy ! 

PEPS. 

I do not know you, sir. You will settle this 
with — I forget your title, sir. I have no time. 

[Exit. 

YORK (di'inking). 
Fear no more the hangman ! 

RICARDO. 

The hangman ! Sir, I do not comprehend you ; 

YORK. 

I told Anderton your story ; whereon he swore 
your reputation should be safe, let come what might ; 
and, sir, for your sake he is here. 

RICARDO. 

Go, instantly ! Tell him I'm already safe ; but as 
for him, he must be gone ! ' 

YORK. 

His mind's made up. He takes no counsel. 



SCENE II.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 139 

KICARDO. 

But I have arguments. Keep to him till I join 
you. 

YORK. 

I'll see. 

[Exit. 

mCARDO. 

I have deserved this coil. 'Twas I alone 

Made Anderton believe my name was clouded. 

What comes he now to do ? If, in good faith, 

To clear me, the first word he speaks will fling 

Suspicion on me. Ah, but does he come 

For that ? And does it stand to reason ? Is it 

Less like he thinks to steal away himself 

Under the cover of this very cloud ? 

One hour must make or mar me. I fear much 

All hopes of mine here end. Small chance there is 

This Peps will cut the knot ; and should he fail, 

I may require some weapon not my tongue. 

[Opens a drawer. 

Gone, by my soul ! not even a penknife here ! 

All snatched ! Thieves, blackamoors, all thieves ! 

Why, even my very daggers have turned traitors. 

And they, too, quit me ! 

•^' ^ [Exit. 



140 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

Scene III. — An anteroom in the Jiouse of Madam Blanche. 

Ente7' Blanche. 

blanche. 

Her hands are folded ; and a heavenly calmness 
Lies on her lips ; and patience on her brow : 
She sleeps. The spirits are her ministers : 
She seems half -glorified : how sweet she sleeps ! 
The anxious lamps burn low with tender light ; 
No buzzing insect comes ; the very winds 
Are far away ; the stars look down in ruth. 
Linger, O Sun, thy rising, lest she wake ! 
How sweet she sleeps ! 

Enter LuCinda. 

LUCINDA. 

Sleeps ? Do you say she sleeps ? 
O Madam Blanche, it is her last, last sleep ! 

BLANCHE. 

What is this folly ? 'Twas but now I left her ; 
Cease wringing of your hands ! There is no cause. 

LUCINDA. 

The doctor told me : he has found it so. 

BLANCHE. 

You did not understand ; — but let us go ! 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOYED THEE ! 141 

Enter Charteris and Anderton. 

CHARTERIS. 

All me, that you had never known each other ! 
Would I might comfort you ! but no, I cannot : 
It was the loveliest flower in all earth's garden. 

ANDERTON. 

It is the end. 

CHARTERIS. 

Had you but come before ! 
She thought you dead : that thought has been her 
death. 

Enter Peyton. 

Until to-night I never knew what grief was, 
Nor felt I had grown old. 

ANDERTON. 

It is the end. 

Enter Peps. 

PEPS. 

Villain ! {Aims a pistol at Anderton" : is disarmed 
hy Peyton.) 

ANDERTON. 

Give him his pistol ! Give \\> back ! 
I killed his master. 

PEYTON. 

Tes, but in a duel, 

ANDERTON. 

I say I killed his master. O my friends, 



142 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT V. 

If you have any spark of pity for me, 
Give him his weapon ! 

Enter Ricardo and, opposite, two Officers. 

FIRST OFFICER. 

"We have come — 

ANDERTON. 

I know 
For whom you come ; it is for Anderton, 
And I am he. I sacrificed poor Bryan ; 
But here is one who, if he had his will, 
Would pay me with a bullet. 

FIRST OFFICER. 

We arrest you — 
Enter Bendix. 

BENDIX. 

Let go that man ! Here is the honest fiend, 

This the good wretch who did it. {Poi7iting at 

RlOAEDO.) 

ANDERTON. 

No, no, 'twas I ! 

RICARDO. 

Vile, bounty- jumping beast, do you not hear him ? 

ANDERTON. 

O Bendix, do not wish to save my life ! 

You do me wrong, not knowing it, good Bendix, 

To you life may be sweet ; for me, I hate it : 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 143 

An hour ago it was a precious thing ; 
Now 'tis a curse ; and nothing's worth to me 
But the grave's peace ; and that peace I will have, 
Though I must rush for it on the cannon's mouth. 

BENDIX. 

For God's sake, do not die till I have shown 
This monster stabbed poor Bryan ! Do not die 
Till I have cleared your name ! 

ANDERTON. 

You cannot. It was I that struck the blow, 
And here I kneel and with my raised right hand 
I swear it ; and will no one be avenged ? 

No man ? 

BENDIX. 

And here I kneel ; and here I call 
Heaven's lightning and hell's fire upon me 
If I do not most honestly believe 
What I now dare to prove. 

RICARDO. 

The man is mad. 

BENDIX. 

Bring in that boy ! 

Enter Dick with Poor Parlow. 

RICARDO. 

Come, gentlemen, I protest ! 
'Tis bad enough when traitors are accusers. 
Far worse when idiots are their evidence. 



144 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT V. 

SECOND OFFICER. 

But let us hear ! 

BENDIX. 

You shall. Know, then, ^is true 
There was a duel between Bryan and Anderton ; 
'Tis true that Bryan fell ; that Anderton 
Was fool enough to fly. But what came next ? 
Boy, look at this ! {showing a dagger,) 

POOR PARLOW. 

Ha, ha ! Short dagger, that ! 
It is the long-cloak man's. When shall we have 
More music? Hoot! Give it me ! Ha, ha! So! 
This was the way he did it. {Stabs himself.) 

BENDIX. 

Hold, boy, hold ! 

POOR PARLOW. 

No, soldier-man ; 'tis music-night, I think. 
The long-cloak man did so ; and then the other 
He cried out " Oh ! oh ! oh !" ( Partly falls.) 

CHARTERIS. 

Is it possible ? 
He has not wit enough to know what death is. 

FIRST OFFICER. 

But he will soon be there ; we must be quick — 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 145 

SECOND OFFICER. 

Or hear no more. Who was the long-cloak man ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Why there he is, you fool, you — not to know 

The long-cloak man ! Ha ! ha ! [Pomts at Ricaedo.) 

BENDix {to Officers). 

What say you now? 

POOR PARLOW. 

I say, look at me, for I'm going to be 
The still-man. 

CHARTERIS. 

God, there's matter in all this ! 
Where were you, boy, that night ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Don't scold me, sir ! 
I hid me in the leaves to hear the music. 

DICK, 

Dat's true ; I let him in dere. 

CHARTERIS. 

Was the moon shining ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Bright ! bright ! bright ! 

CHARTERIS. 

You're sure this was the dagger ? 



146 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT V. 

POOR PARLOW. 

The cloak-man drove it in the ground ; I found it, 
And then I drove it back. 

PEYTON. 

This very one ? 

POOR PARLOW. 

Yes, yes ! But hold me, sir ; I'm awful tired ! 

[Charteris and Peyton assid him. 

ANDERTON. 

Poor fellow ! 

POOR PARLOW. 

That music ! O, that music ! {pointing above.) 

[Dies. 

BENDIX. 

He's dead. 

ANDERTON. 

O boy, would I were in your place ! 

FIRST OFFICER. 

Go your own way to it, then, for I release you. 
( To RiCAEDO.) What is your name, sir ? 

RICARDO. 

It is not your business, 

SECOND OFFICER. 

We make it ours and hold you prisoner. 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 147 



PEPS. 



I beg your pardon, Captain Anderton ; 

I wronged you. As for this black dog of hell, 

If the law kills him not, I will ! 



Enter York. 

ANDERTON. 



Ricardo, 
I know not what to think. Some days ago, 
I sent to you a messenger : you told him — 
Eudora — 

CHARTERIS. 

Since your grief so chokes you, captain, 
I'll speak. You told him, sir, that she— his lady- 
Refused to see my friend ; refused to hear 
Even the name of Anderton. 

; RICARDO. 

I did not. 

YORK. 

I was that messenger. 

RICARDO. 

I never told you — 



CHARTERIS. 



Do I speak truth ? 



YORK. 

You speak the truth. 



148 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

CHARTERIS, 

And further, 
You gave it out that Anderton was dead, 
Knowing he lived. 

BENDIX. 

And guess you with what purpose ? 
It was to marry her who's now above us ; 
For that same reason he made off with Bryan. 

ANDERTON. 

These charges, be they true or false, Ricardo, 
Even so Heaven deal with you ! And yet I know not 
If Heaven be just : I thought so, once ; but now. 
All's dark ; and I see nothing but two graves. 

Bendix, if you tell the very truth, 

Why does the lightning linger ? Were such deeds 
mine, 

1 should expect the solid earth to gape 

And swallow me to its hell. No, no, good Bendix, 

It cannot be that any man so vile 

Dare give his face reflection in the glass, 

Or rest his gaze on any innocence 

In nature ; nay, he could not bear to live 

With his own kind ; but he would seek some cave , 

Where wolves inhabited, where serpents hissed. 

And herd with them ; — yet no, for these would be 

Less horrible than himself ; and he would find 

No pleasure even in the serpent's den; 

Down, down, still farther down the wretch must go. 

Even to the twisted fiends. 

[Exit. 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 



149 



BENDIX. 

(7b RiCAEDO.) Dost like the picture ? 

mcARDO {to Officers). 
Lead me away ! 

BENDIX. 

Ah, ha ! you blench, then ? 

mcARDO {snaiching the pistol from peyton). 

Slave— 
Another word and I will seal your lips ! 

[Peyton recovers the pistol. 

BENDIX. 

Ay, do so, and sink deeper in hot brimstone ! 
Ay, get you down, good man ! Why, gentlemen. 
This wretch has hopes to circumvent the devil. 

[The folding-doors are thrown open, discovering, icreathed 
icith flowers, the form of Eudora, laid out in an ad- 
joining room. Candles burning. Enter Anderton 
from the room mentioned, pausing on the threshold; 
also Blanche. 

But soft ! upon your knees ! 

[York and Bendix kneel. 

BLANCHE. 

{Her hand on his arm.) Nay, Anderton, 
It has not come the proper time to speak ; 
Not even has the day been yet appointed : 
Forbear till then ! 



160 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [ACT V. 

ANDERTON. 

Till then ? Forbear till then ? 
And where shall I be then ? Is Heaven so cruel 
To let me live so long ? Is there no man 
In all this Washington who loved poor Bryan ? 
For, if there be, here stand I, weaponless, 
And he's a coward if he dare not end me — 
Ingrate and base, unfit to be a friend. 
I did believe in friendship ; but no more, 
If neither Bryan owned one, nor yet I : 
You, York, and Peyton, you behold me here, 
My light gone out, the lamp that lit my life 
Here lying quenched, — but O, still burning there, 
And waiting for me ! You behold me wretched. 
Past earthly comfort and in love with death. 
But no one helps me yonder. O, farewell, then, 
Thou bubble, friendship ! Welcome, only, love — 
Which, all of mine's in heaven ; and I must find 

thee. 
In my own way ! And now you have my mind : 
Look not to thwart me ! If you follow me. 
But with the blaze of arms, or dealing swords 
Or daggers, look you to your own fair lives, 
For you will know me dangerous ! 

[ApproacJies the hody. 
O thou sweet rose ! 

Art grown so pale to hear ? and cannot speak ? 
And that dear smile must be in earth so soon ! 
O, it will all illuminate the grave 
And rob away the darkness ! Those blest hands — 
Are they not praying still ? The violets, 



SCENE III.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 151 

The pansies in their time, and all good flowers 
Must love you where you lie, and bend their heads 
With doting on you. There, too, shall I come, 
Eudora, there to stay with thee forever : 
The same beams of the sun shall smile on us, 
The same rays of the moon, the self -same stars ; 
And every breeze that blows across your grave 
Will make the grasses tremble upon mine. 
Kiss me good-night ! How much, how much I loved 
thee! 

[Exit. The folding-doors are shut. 

YORK. 

I take upon myself to follow him. 

CHAllTERIS. 

Let us consider ! True it is, if life 

Were not a burden to him, our good part 

Should aid his keeping it. How best to do this, 

Were still a question ; and I greatly doubt 

If seeming to fall in with his desire 

Be not the sures-t means of thwarting it. 

PEYTON. 

I think that way. Besides, in my opinion 
Death would be happiness. 

YORK. 

You shall be judge. 

FIRST OFFICER. 

We must commission you to have this boy 



152 HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! [aCT V. 

Brought to the coroner's. For the prisoner, here, 
We answer to the court. 

[Exeunt OflQcers loith Ricardo. 

CHARTERIS. 

Sad night ! sad night ! 
This mat will serve to carry the poor boy 

Into the street. 

[Exeunt, bearing the body. 



Scene IV. — Shore of the Potomac. Morning twilight. 
Enter Anderton and Boatman. 

ANDERTON. 

And so you will confess you hear me spealf, 

Yet cannot hear that voice on the other side 

Which bids me come, — that more than earthly voice ? 

BOATMAN. 

No, stranger, I can hear no voice but yours 
And mine. 

ANDERTON. 

Now, hark, for there it is again ! 

BOATMAN. 

I do not hear it. 

ANDERTON. 

I'll no longer parley : 
Unmoor your boat ! If you will go with me, 



SCENE IV.] HOW MUCH I LOVED THEE ! 153 

Why, well ; if not, here's that will ten times pay 
The loss of your poor craft. 

BOATMAN. 

But, sir, I fear — 

ANDERTON. 

You need fear nothing, sir, but me alone : 
Therefore, unloose ! Here is your money, sir. 
Give me the oars ! 

[Boatman takes the money, gives up the oars, and steps 
down to unloose the boat. 

Hark ! there it is once more ! 
Yes, yes, Eudora, yes : I come ! I come ! 

[Steps into the boat and rows away. 

BOATMAN. 

Upon my soul, I half believe this man 

Is nothing less than some deserter ! Ho, there ! 

But what care I ? 

ANDERTON. 

Farewell, good friend ! farewell ! 
Your boat, sir, will unload in heaven ! Good-bye ! 



THE END, 



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